Redemption
by Madame Oubliette
Summary: 7 years after leaving, Hermione finds herself back at Hogwarts. Many things have changed but the Potions Master has lost none of his acidic quality. That is, until the theft of an important potion forces them into an unlikely, but eventful partnership
1. Introductions

Introductions.  
  
Hermione cupped the steaming glass vial carefully in her right hand, as she attempted a tricky negotiation through some swing doors in a mid-sector corridor of the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes. It was odd thinking how things had turned out, about the many events that had led her here, of all places, when the time had come to leave Hogwarts behind. Except, she sighed to herself, she had never really left it behind. She was still left in a perpetual limbo halfway between an obnoxious child who was desperate to prove herself, and the smooth and polished scholar she hoped to become.  
  
She smiled pleasantly as she held the doors open for a thin, but over- loaded witch, tottering beneath an awkward looking column of assorted books and documents.  
  
"Thanks, Miss Granger!"  
  
Hermione nodded a brief acknowledgement before continuing along the otherwise empty corridor. Afternoon was just waning into evening and most of the other employees had scrambled home by now, apparating back to their hot dinners and warm fires. But she had work to do, and, as an apparently insignificant student, the pull of home was a considerably less tangible force. If she were lucky, she would be able to return to Hogwarts just in time for last servings in the Great Hall.  
  
With this in mind, her pace quickened somewhat as she strode purposefully toward the lift, jabbing her finger impatiently at the up button. It had barely begun to illuminate however, when a familiar clanging noise resounded through the steel doors and they parted suddenly with a sharp whoosh of stale air.  
  
She was halfway over the threshold, when she noticed someone else was also working late. Someone else was in the lift, who did not appear to appreciate company.  
  
The young face still carried the same pale and pointed features that gave the impression of flawless, yet mechanical beauty, but the eyes of this urbane young man were unrecognisable. Gone was the malicious dancing glint that had so often partnered a cruel sneer, to be replaced by a cold, unreadable gloss that, irrationally, scared Hermione more.  
  
"Hello Draco." May as well make this as cordial as possible, Hermione reasoned, she had to pass him often enough in the Ministry of Magic.  
  
Yes, it was odd how things had turned out.  
  
"Granger." As usual, he managed to make his greeting sound as though it physically pained him to force her mudblood name through his lips, tainting his thoughts and leaving an unpleasant taste in his mouth. Some things it seemed, never changed. "Working late, I see. Again."  
  
Hermione saw through the transparency of his comment straight away, it was just like all those times at school when he had teased her about staying behind, or rather, being left behind, at Hogwarts over the school holidays. Well, she was older now. She neither cared, nor wished to imply that she cared, about what Draco Malfoy thought of her lifestyle.  
  
"Yes, I'm working on a sample." She shook her head in order to displace a few wisps of flyaway hair from her face, raising her right hand slightly to indicate the contents of the glass vial. His reaction was predictable, but she was still gratified to see Draco move perceptibly forward out of an enthralled curiosity.  
  
Yes, it was a marvellous concoction, she thought to herself. A vivid, bubbling maelstrom of brightest green liquid, which released an intoxicating vapour. While she told herself that she neither cared, nor wished to imply that she cared, about Draco's own particular brand of approval, she saw no harm in merely displaying the fruits of her labour to those who inquired.  
  
She could see an internal battle being played out across Draco's face, as he twitched and grimaced for a few seconds, before finally blurting out the question he was dying to ask.  
  
"W-What is it?" He inwardly cursed himself, Malfoys did not stutter. He cursed himself more for the uncontrollable curiosity that forced him to rely on the know-it-all Miss. Granger for information. Unfortunately, this was becoming rather a habit of late.  
  
Hermione knew she could just sniff, and impatiently explain that it was merely a potion she was working on for her Ph.M. (Professor of very hard Magic), but she saw no harm in sharing her project. In fact, she reasoned, it may even interest him enough to consider investing some of the famous Malfoy galleons into her research. She was nothing if not practical.  
  
"Remember the talk Professor Snape gave at our very first Potions class?"  
  
He looked puzzled, as well he might, she thought dryly to herself. It was awfully hard to think of Snape as capable of inspiring anything, bar fear and loathing.  
  
"What, when he badmouthed Potter, and took points off Gryffindor?"  
  
"I said our first Potions class, not every Potions class. I mean the speech he gave about 'bottling fame,' 'brewing glory', and - "  
  
" - Stoppering death!" Draco advanced forward, the absent glint in his eyes briefly re-ignited, his cheeks infused with more colour than usual. Hermione felt distinctly uncomfortable, as though the small dimensions of the elevator had suddenly shrunk further. Despite his misleading paleness, Draco had grown into a tall and forbidding character, who swept through the halls of the Ministry of Magic with poise and authority. With all the arrogance of youth, he was seemingly unaware the effect his masculinity held over those who equally cowered and fawned around his presence - despite his position of relatively inferior rank.  
  
Hermione, in contrast, was still as slight and ethereal as ever, and she did not like the threatening physical presence Malfoy reminding her of this fact. Never-the-less, she could see that she had hooked him with her bait and a small, very Slytherin, part of her savoured this position of strength.  
  
Before Hermione had time to reply however, the elevator came swiftly to a stop and a smooth female voice announced over the intercom that they had arrived at Level Five: "Please depart for the Department of International Magical Co-operation, incorporating the International Magical Trading Standards Body, the Intern-" but just what else was housed on Level Five was cut off curtly by Draco.  
  
"I should be very interested in the results of this experiment, Miss Granger. Please ensure that the appropriate reports find their way to my desk before the end of the week." And with a flash of black robes, he was gone from the elevator.  
  
Hermione pressed the button for Level Seven and smiled mischievously to herself. It was funny how Draco was capable of resorting to such business- like tones, when he really wanted something from her. Which, she was pleased to admit, was fairly often now she had been appointed an archivist at the Ministry of Magic.  
  
Before she had time for further self-congratulation the lift stopped again at Level Seven "...Department of Magical Games and Sports, incorporating the British and Irish Quidditch League Headquarters, Official Go.." Hermione was so tired of hearing that pitch perfect voice day-in, day-out every time she wanted to use the elevator she thought she would find herself resorting to petty vandalism if she didn't get out of the elevator soon.  
  
Just as she expected, she had barely taken two steps down the corridor before she was greeted by an over-enthusiastic looping red-head. A Weasley of course.  
  
"Ron!"  
  
"Hermione! What brings you down to the mad house?"  
  
As if responding to his words, a stray bludger suddenly hurtled past Hermione's left ear, destined no doubt toward a vulnerable patch of bare plaster.  
  
"Oops! Sorry 'Mione!"  
  
"That's okay Seamus, Lord knows, I put up with enough of this nonsense back at the flat."  
  
The sandy-haired youth grinned back, a twinkle in his eye. No doubt remembering one of the many parties he had participated in at number 10a Trilby Place.  
  
"Anyway. we still haven't caught the bastard yet." and with that Seamus and his smaller, jostling companion raced past Hermione and Ron in the direction of the dinner plate sized demolition ball.  
  
"Honestly, you could practically bottle the Testosterone in this place."  
  
"Yeah, I guess it can get a bit much sometimes."  
  
Hermione knew he didn't really mean that, Ron loved his work at the Department of Magical Games and Sport, almost as much as he loved playing Quidditch itself.  
  
"Is that what you've come for then - to add a few of my excellent pheromones to one of your bubbling concoctions?"  
  
"Er sadly not Ronald, I assure you, if I were looking for pheromones, the youngest Weasley son would be my last port of call."  
  
"You do know, that if you weren't hiding behind that rather green potion you'd currently be playing bludger to my beater?" Noticing the steaming glass vial for the first time, he leaned forward for a closer look. "What's this then?"  
  
"Oh, just something I'm working on. That's why I'm here, actually. Youou haven't seen Terry have you? Only I thought, with the match being on this afternoon."  
  
"He's through there, with the rest of those TRAITORS!!!" and here he craned his neck around the nearest door, although his comment was cut by a sudden roar from the group of men crowded around the Visiport - a sort of frameless window cut into the air that showed the viewer a glimpse into the corresponding Visiport, in this case, the Wimbourne Wasp's Quidditch pitch.  
  
"Er..."  
  
"I'll fetch him for you shall I?"  
  
"Thanks." She didn't much fancy trying to jostle herself into a crowd of over-excited and Quidditch obsessed grown men - at least not with an important potion sample in her hand. Still, she was glad Terry had taken the afternoon off, and was able to let a bit of steam off, it was almost unnatural the amount of time he spent tucked away in their laboratory huddled over one of his many on-going projects.  
  
"What is it Hermione? Oh." He broke off suddenly when he saw what she had in her hand, a fresh eagerness breaking out that had little to do with the current Quidditch score. "It's been through distillation then?"  
  
"Yep, just about ready for testing now. You did say to come and fetch you once I'd finished." A new, torn emotion flittered across his face as he eyed the Visiport with open yearning.  
  
"Oh for heaven's sake Terry, just test it when the game's over." She smiled as she handed the vial and it's stopper over to him. A fresh roar - of celebration or protest she couldn't identify - rose up from the room, which seemed enough to persuade Terry where his loyalties lay, and he grabbed the vial with a hurried but genuine thanks before rushing back into the room.  
  
"Fools, the lot of them." Ron tutted, which Hermione thought was rich coming from him, considering his usual behaviour during the Chudley Cannons games. "So, should we be setting a place for you tonight, or are you returning to your natural state of geeking?"  
  
"Don't get me started, my work load is unbelievable; I'm almost tempted to ask Minerva for that time turner back again."  
  
"Please don't; I remember what you were like in year 3 - half-way to St. Mungo's!"  
  
Hermione smiled, strangely warmed by the memory of herself as an overly conscientious thirteen year old.  
  
"I'll be at Hogwarts till next Sunday, there's some texts I need to look into, and of course there's my teaching commitments. I told Harry all this over breakfast, but you'd already dashed off to work."  
  
"Well don't work too hard, we've got the reputation of the House of Fun to keep up." This was the jokey name Harry and Ron used when referring to the flat, courtesy of an impromptu christening from Seamus during their house warming party. House of Mess was what Hermione called it most of the time.  
  
"Don't worry, I won't cramp your style. Anyway, I best be off if I want to make it in time for some food." She leaned forward on tiptoe to plant a kiss on the side of his face. "Take care."  
  
"You too. See you Sunday then."  
  
"Sunday." And with that she stepped into the elevator, still vacant and unclaimed during the off-peak period of calm.  
  
* * *  
  
It was a much less cheerful Hermione Granger who made her way into Hogwart's Great Hall twenty minutes later. She had been looking forward to spending a rare free weekend with the boys, but had been called back to Hogwarts in her capacity as a reserve teacher. Professor McGonagall had never quite recovered from the physical shock of being hit by four stupefy spells in Hermione's fifth year at Hogwarts.  
  
The Hall was mostly empty now, save for a few straggling students scattered along the Ravenclaw and Gryffindor House tables, and of course a number of teachers, too distant for Hermione to make out from afar.  
  
As she neared the table her heart dropped. Her choice of dining companions consisted of a drowsing Professor Flitwick, a small and huddled Witch Hermione had never seen before, and Professor Snape. Half of her was tempted simply to go directly to the kitchens and pay a self-serving visit to Dobby and co., but it was too late to turn around now she was halfway across the hall.  
  
She sighed and steeled herself for another prickly conversation with Severus. She had rather hoped that the Potions Master of her school days had been a hyperbolic creation borne of the great teenage need to feel outrageously persecuted. But no, here was one case, at least, where the childhood apparition had turned out to be every bit as unpleasant to the adult.  
  
"Severus."  
  
He looked up sourly from the small book he had propped against the water jug, making sure Hermione was acutely aware of exactly how unpleasant he found this unexpected disruption to his reading.  
  
"Hermione."  
  
She had the feeling he felt every bit as resentful about calling her by her Christian name as she felt awkward doing likewise. For the hundredth time, she silently cursed Albus Dumbledore to eternal damnation, for seating her next to Snape on the high table seating plan - one of the considerable pitfalls of being the 'new girl' she supposed.  
  
She sat down stiffly, and began spooning the contents of the dish onto her plate, too tired to really care what she was eating, as long as it filled the gaping hole in her stomach. Once again, she had simply forgotten to eat lunch. Although to be fair, even Ron would have considered such an oversight forgivable, if he really knew what she was working on - she had the sneaking suspicion than Ron viewed her work at the Ministry of Ministry as little more than a glorified bottle washer to Seamus Finnigan, and part- time librarian.  
  
The food on her plate turned out to be a delicious beef lasagne, and the only thing that prevented Hermione from bolting the dish straight down her throat was the thought of the disgusted looks she would no doubt attract from her dining companion. Companion. Pah.! As usual, he sat in stony silence, his plate long emptied, as he flicked his eyes avidly across the text he apparently found so absorbing.  
  
It seemed a shame to disturb him. Which gave Hermione all the more reason to do so. Besides, she was the sort of person who couldn't even eat a bowl of cereal without reading the back of the packet.  
  
"How is Minerva?" She could have gone for the jugular and asked him what he was reading, but she didn't think even his self-restraint would stretch that far on Friday evening, plus she was genuinely concerned for her old Head of House.  
  
"Minerva is resting. Just a flare-up of an old complaint." The standard Hogwarts approved line on the Transfiguration Professor's health. Snape kept his eyes fixed firmly on the text. He wished she'd get the hint for once and leave him in peace to monitor the last of the diners. A large part of him savagely missed the days when he could just shout at the wretched girl to shut up and go away. However, a larger part of him thanked every star in the sky that bossy-boots Granger and that fool Longbottom were no longer a part of his classroom. As his thoughts strayed to Longbottom, he didn't know whether to laugh or choke at the boy's fortune - the result was a rather ugly grimace that Hermione took as a signal to the end of their 'discussion'.  
  
As Snape sat pondering the strangeness of Neville Longbottom's eventual fate, Hermione shovelled a quick last forkful of food into her mouth before rising to leave.  
  
"Deprived of Miss Granger's delightful presence so soon? Why, I hope I haven't done anything to offend you."  
  
"Not at all Severus, I merely wish to participate in a more intelligent conversation; wiith my cat, or even my hat stand for that matter. Good day."  
  
Snape finally raised his head from his book, watching after Hermione as she left the Hall with a serene sweep of emerald robes. Slytherin colours, he thought wryly.  
  
Quite why or how she managed to rile him so much, where so many others had failed, he simply couldn't say. Such exchanges were usually characteristic of their post-dinner communication once Dumbledore was out of sight. Certainly, he had always maintained a professional stance with all his other colleagues, but Hermione Granger deeply irritated some part of his subconscious. He should be happy that Albus had finally seen fit to employ a young, thrustingly intelligent scholar. Yet all he saw when she opened her considerably large mouth was one half of the Potter Sidekick Association, which seemed to drown out anything else she might say. It was not particularly big of him to bait her so often, nor particularly wise he reasoned, but it was as automatic as breathing, and equally as necessary.  
  
Hermione walked back to her temporary rooms along the ground floor corridor cursing her stupidity. She had ended up behaving like a vindictive schoolgirl again and sounding like a fool. If she were ever to gain any amount of professional respect in this place she needed to control her emotions where it mattered, and that meant no more snapping at Snape - although she secretly thought that he actually enjoyed engaging in such rhetorical duelling. Still, no matter how pugnacious he was, there was really no excuse for her response. Except for the part of him being a complete git. A very greasy git. She giggled to herself.  
  
Time may have changed many things about Hogwarts, but its Potions Master had remained oddly constant. The man she sat next to during socially tortuous mealtimes was little different from the man who had faced her over the teacher's desk. He probably had a few more chips on his shoulder, carried a few more thousand death grudges, and, if Hermione's overall impression of his diet was anything to go by, his cholesterol levels must surely have rocketed, but, other than that, he remained largely predictable. Or wholly unpredictable, depending on your viewpoint.  
  
She carried on along the ground floor corridor, slowing down to a more leisurely pace once she had managed to calm down and regain her sense of dignity. So much for the welcome committee. As the flush slowly crept out of her face and her tunnel vision receded, she reached a hand out and trailed it gently along the oddly warm bricks of the rough, stone walls, enjoying the abrupt change of texture as a glorious velveteen tapestry signalled she needed to turn left at the next junction.  
  
Hermione was no longer lodged in Gryffindor tower - although occasionally after a particularly tiring day she would find her feet automatically carrying her up the well-trodden staircase. The place she called home now, was a set of chambers located in what she liked to call the 'warren', but everyone else referred to as the dungeons. She turned left and walked confidently forward toward a seemingly solid wall. Taking her slim wand out she tapped the 14th brick up and along the wall and muttered the discharming password, "Opal Fruits!" before walking through the wall.  
  
Since the concealed corridor had only ever been used to house Hogwarts' staff, it was more comfortably furnished than the one Hermione had left behind. A sumptuous red carpet paved the centre of the floor, and two impressive suits of armour stood to attention at the gold trimmed edges. The walls were still constructed of rough stone, but the grey monotony was broken up by gold-framed landscape paintings, and some of Hogwarts' more delicate tapestries. At various intervals along the wide passage, sat skinny looking mahogany chairs with rather worn leather upholstery and sagging middles. There were also a few mis-matched cabinets and dressers showcasing ornate carpentry. A rather grandiose example backed onto the end wall of the corridor in the form of a beautiful walnut wardrobe. But what purpose they served as pieces of furniture, Hermione had never been able to ascertain as natural curiosity had revealed only their emptiness. Few Hogwarts staff ever chose to live in this part of the castle - no doubt due to the rather negative connotations 'dungeon' conjured up - which probably explained Hermione's designation. Certainly she never met a soul in this part of the castle, although hers was the only door in the corridor - if that ever meant anything at Hogwarts. As a consequence, she had gradually come to regard the whole passage as her personal door stoop.  
  
Stopping at a wide oak panelled door set halfway down the left wall, she reached forward and squeezed the brass doorknocker by the nose. The gargoyle's eyes flew open angrily.  
  
"Oi! I wuz sleepin' there miss. Whatchoo go an' wake me up for? No need for that."  
  
"No, no need at all," answered the indignant doorknob, which only ever agreed with the doorknocker when it was arguing with Hermione.  
  
"Codswollop!"  
  
"Well, that's not very nice now is it missy?"  
  
"No, not nice at all!" the doorknocker replied indignantly.  
  
"It's the password you nimrods." Hermione was not in the mood for an exhausting performance from Tweedledum and Tweedledee. In her first week, before she had become wise to their tricks, she had spent a full hour pleading with them to be let into her rooms. Now, she found that the direct route seemed to work the best.  
  
"Ooh password, lissen to 'er!" shrieked the doorknob.  
  
"Didn't ask the snotty miss for password now did we?"  
  
"Look, I have better things to do with my time than converse with two intellectually delinquent lumps of scrap metal. Now let me in before I transfigure the pair of you into toe-clippers for the first year bathroom. Codswollop!"  
  
The door remained firmly shut.  
  
"Now we're weeeeally scared."  
  
"The ickle 'lady' wants to play 'Witches and Wizards'."  
  
"Maybe we should tell her wot 'appened to the last ikkle witchy 'oo gave us lip"  
  
"Ooh yes, bet that would wipe smug little smile off miss poshie poo's face."  
  
"Just let me in you morons. Codswollop!" With a few more grumbled mutterings about the state of the world in general and Hogwarts teachers in particular, the door knocker and knob (or Dumb and Dumber as Hermione called them) finally conceded defeat and swung the door open. Hermione had only recently found out that the transfiguration spell that had been cast over the door guardians, forbade them from barring entry after the password had been spoken three times - however, it was entirely another thing trying to get a word in edgewise.  
  
"Lumos!" Light filled the large rectangular room as Hermione used her wand to light the odd assortment of lamps cluttered around the room before turning to the empty grate and magicing a blazing log fire. She sat down in one of the large plush armchairs with a whoomp and kicked her sensible court shoes off with relief.  
  
The dim light cast by the flickering lamps and firelight added further dimensions to an already comfortably sized sitting room. Directly opposite the doorway in the left hand corner of the room lay another heavy door, slightly ajar, that led to a short passage way to her small bedchamber and bathroom. The rest of the wall was covered by a high bookshelf, only half full, and cast into eerie relief by the natural moonlight coming through the long arched window on the adjoining wall. Although her rooms were underground, two gothic windows had been cut into the cliff allowing a breathtaking view of the sea and coast. Along this wall rested yet more bookshelves, and, in the corner, a round wooden table completely covered in sheaves of paper and illustrated manuscripts that had not quite found their way back into the library yet. Somewhere nearby there was a chaise longue, but exactly which pile of documents this lay under Hermione could only vaguely guess at. Having used up all her available workspaces, yet more manuscripts lay in orderly piles across the floor leading all the way up to the two armchairs and coffee table that sat in front of the fireplace, forming a sort of breakwater between mess and tidiness - or work and rest.  
  
Hermione was just pouring herself a generous gobletfull of red wine when a sudden movement caught the corner of her eye. Turning around quickly Hermione immediately saw what had entered her room. Her goblet smashed to the ground as she let out a loud scream, and knew immediately that this had something to do with the green potion.  
  
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
  
ACKOWLEDGEMENTS: [a big thank you to beta Azazello for invaluable advice and general helpfulness ] [and hugs to DMers (darkmark.com) who have put up with my incessant fic whinging] 


	2. Flight of the Phoenix

Chapter 1: Flight of the Phoenix  
  
"Terry! You gave me a fright!"  
  
"Sorry, I've been trying to catch you for the last hour." The flames in the fireplace licked around Terry Boot's head, taking on a dark green tinge from the floo powder he had used to link up their hearths. "It's about the potion."  
  
"Did it work?" Hermione had stopped in the process of picking up the goblet which had spilled its contents onto the floor, and lurched forward on her hands and knees toward the fireplace.  
  
"Well, yes and no. It's fair to say we've definitely reached a breakthrough - I think we're really on to something!"  
  
"What happened, did you test it?"  
  
"Just after you'd left. I don't think we can claim to have bottled Immortal Fame just yet, but we've certainly succeeded in trapping a five-minute wonder. It's amazing! Ron saw the potion and volunteered to play guinea pig -" Terry stopped halfway through his excited explanation when he caught sight of the worried look on Hermione's face. "Don't worry, I'd completed all the toxicity tests yesterday - but, it worked! It really worked! Its effects dragged even the Quidditch Department boys away from their. work. He had to run down the stairwell to escape from demented female fans -"  
  
"- And then.?"  
  
Terry laughed, ".then Katie Bell suddenly wondered why she had rugby tackled Ron to the ground and exactly why it had seemed so imperative two minutes ago to rip his shirt off."  
  
Hermione sat up suddenly, as though something had just occurred to her.  
  
"But I thought this project was Grade B - that we weren't supposed to be telling anyone about it - yet?"  
  
"Which would explain why Malfoy was sniffing around my desk yesterday?"  
  
Hermione coloured.  
  
"We agreed we need more funding. I didn't exactly tell him what we were doing, just hinted at it."  
  
"Likewise. I fobbed them off by telling them it was just a commercial project we were testing - a lust potion. Who are they to notice the difference?" Hermione thought it must have been a trick of the flames, but she swore she saw his face harden. Feeling guilty for her thoughtless indiscretion, she tried to pick the conversation up again from where they had left off.  
  
"So it works. but not for long enough?"  
  
"Yes, I wanted to pick your brains on that one. I think it might have something to do with the root seed we used." He suddenly reverted back to serious-Terry, Terry-the-colleague.  
  
"The Phoenix feather?"  
  
"I think that's what malfunctioned - it's simply not strong enough."  
  
"But we took it from Fawkes?"  
  
"I don't mean the feather in itself is ineffective, merely that the feather by itself is not enough. Remember, there are two halves to the equation of Immortal Fame; we trapped the essence of the former by using the Phoenix feather, so it stands to reason that we need an ingredient that encapsulates the latter."  
  
"Fame. but what can we use for that? That's not a quality attributed to any mythical beast I know of. Werewolf fur procures strength, Centaur tail psychic power, Dragon claw ancient knowledge, Griffins - "  
  
"- You're thinking too hard, not looking at what's right in front of you." Since Hermione's only answer to this statement was a puzzled stare, Terry continued. "Who do you know who graces the cover of every magazine from 'Witch Weekly' to 'New StatesWizard', who can barely walk down the street without being mobbed, who is the most recognisable figure in the wizarding world?"  
  
"You're not seriously suggesting that I. Are you?"  
  
"That's precisely what I'm suggesting."  
  
* * *  
  
So this was how Hermione found herself on Saturday morning not lying in a warm squashy bed, but strolling down Diagon Alley with a sour expression fixed firmly on her face. She could see people looking up as she walked past; Terry had insisted that she don tangerine coloured robes for the meeting he had set up: "It's his favourite colour according to Teen Witch. Details, details." Her reply had involved an impressive string of expletives and the loss of a left-footed shoe somewhere in the floo network after Terry had expertly dodged the intended missile.  
  
She was still so annoyed she nearly walked past the Leaky Cauldron without noticing, and had to double back slightly. She looked at her watch as she entered the revolving doors. Ten minutes early. At least she had time to order a nice stiff drink.  
  
Bustling her way to the bar, she was suddenly struck by how extraordinarily busy the pub was for ten to eleven on a Saturday morning.  
  
"I'll have a double of Ogden's Firewhisky please. With ice."  
  
"You heard then did you?" The round-faced barmaid winked conspiratorially at a clueless Hermione.  
  
"Heard what?"  
  
"Honestly! 'Heard what?' I tells ya! Hermione Granger, not knowing who we've got staying with us? Ever such a nice bloke an' all, none of those arrogant airs and graces you get off some."  
  
Hermione was too put out by the sad realisation that she was on first name terms with half the bar tenders in the wizarding world to take much notice of what Bridgette was blathering on about this time. Handing over two galleons for her drink, she tried to tune back in to the barmaids excited patter.  
  
".and he ain't no trouble neither. No trouble at all. Not like some I care to mention. We had your friends the Weasley twins in here the other day, only they didn't half make a mess of things when. ALL RIGHT ALREADY! I'M COMING FRANK! Honestly, you'd think I was slow the way he goes on. Anyway, best dash off before he goes into cardiac arrest. There's your change poppet."  
  
This was not a good start to the day, although, judging by the contents of the glass in her hand, things were about to get at least slightly better. Bracing herself for the sharp wake-me-up, Hermione took a quick gulp of Scotch, holding on to the bar for support as something very much akin to Dragon fire whooshed down her throat and up her nostrils, clearing her head with a choking burn. Brrrrrr, she needed that. As she turned to leave the bar and make way for the next customer she felt a small but insistent tugging on the bottom of her robe sleeve.  
  
"Please Miss Granger," piped a small voice at elbow level, "If you please, master says to come upstairs for your special meeting."  
  
Drink still clutched firmly in hand, Hermione followed the dinky elf-goblin toward the back of the pub, weaving carefully in and out of the mid-morning throng.  
  
"This way miss."  
  
Hermione hardly needed prompting, she still remembered the pokey staircase from the time Harry had stayed in the Leaky Cauldron the summer before their third year at Hogwarts. However, she was fairly certain that the two burly security trolls stationed at the entranceway were a new edition to the decor. They growled menacingly at her before spotting the smartly dressed elf-goblin, and reluctantly moved back to allow her access to the stairwell - although not before confiscating her tumbler of Scotch.  
  
"Are the security trolls really necessary?" Hermione hissed as soon as she felt they were out of earshot.  
  
"Oh yes miss. Master has already had to move from the Grand Hotel. His fans can be somewhat. over-enthusiastic at times."  
  
Hermione got the impression that the elf-goblin would have liked to say more, but he suddenly stopped himself, as though he had already said too much. She didn't have much experience of elf-goblins but knew that they operated in much the same way as their house-elf ancestors. Much to Hermione's dismay, the elf-goblin seemed to decide that the best way to compensate for his awkward silence was to speed up the pace.  
  
After the third staircase the lag between the efficient elf-goblin and Hermione had grown considerably. "Great," she thought through her rising anger, "Now I'm not only going to arrive looking like an overgrown breakfast fruit, but a sweaty overgrown breakfast fruit to boot."  
  
Just as she had given up all hope of arriving without the aid of oxygen, she suddenly found that the stairs had come to a stop, and they had reached the topmost floor. This level of the Leaky Cauldron was certainly not familiar from her previous visits, which probably explained the air it carried of a place seldom visited.  
  
It was a dingy corridor; the maroon walls and moth-eaten carpet cast a rather creepy impression of a floor more used to housing darkness than the living. The doors along the narrow walkway were all shut, and covered beneath varying thicknesses of accumulated dust. The only decoration was a few rather limp cobwebs, and the odd weak ray of sunlight that had managed to fight through the spectacularly dirty sky-light window. In fact, it was becoming so gloomy, that the little elf-goblin took a lamp out from the folds of his immaculate jacket, which at least slowed his pace down. They had just turned a sharp corner, when the elf-goblin stopped in front of a spotless door. Hermione caught up just in time to watch as he took a plain doorknocker out of his pocket and attached it about halfway up, rapping out three short knocks.  
  
"Wait here please Miss."  
  
Before Hermione had a chance to ask how long that was likely to be, or even to thank her guide, he was gone, leaving Hermione all by herself in the gathering gloom.  
  
"Enter!" A voice half-muffled through the thickness of the door, but none- the-less intelligible called out into the hallway. Without waiting for nerves to set in, Hermione grasped the door handle and pushed.  
  
"Hermione!"  
  
As her eyes struggled to adjust to the lighting, she could make out the shape of a thin man slouched in a square armchair. The only source of light she could see was an orange glow from the ferocious fire. As she crossed the room toward the shadowy figure she noted that the curtains were drawn.  
  
"Neville?" She asked, uncertainly.  
  
"Oh, I didn't expect you so soon. Here," He waved his wand absentmindedly around the room, its circular motion lighting the wall lamps, allowing Hermione a first true glimpse of his appearance. As usual, he looked immaculate in his designer robes, despite the grim surroundings. His dark hair hung carelessly across a boyish face, posters of which graced the walls of thousands of teenagers' rooms. But his eyes seemed strangely unfocused.  
  
He rose from the chair swiftly as Hermione approached, taking her cold hands in his own.  
  
"You're looking grand," he smiled as he bent forward to plant two gentle kisses on either cheek.  
  
"You're not too bad yourself" Hermione smiled wider. It never ceased to amaze her that the stuttering catastrophe prone schoolboy who had sat next to her through five years of potions lessons had managed to grow into such an attractive man. Where there had once been puppy fat there was now muscle, with well-defined cheekbones creating a handsome yet amiable face.  
  
"Here, take a seat. You look half frozen." Neville gestured at the remaining armchair as he lowered himself back into the other.  
  
"Well I did get a drink from the bar to warm myself up, but I don't think your security patrol appreciated it very much."  
  
"Yes, they do seem to over react about such things - don't seem to think I can be trusted." He smiled wanly, and a faraway look descended into his eyes. "Sorry, coffee's out too, but it seems I'm still allowed tea." He gave a flick of his wand, and a pot of tea appeared on a small table to his right. As Hermione watched him pour the tea into a delicate china cup she suddenly felt a great wave of sadness roll through her. She would have given anything to have him drop the teacup he was offering, just to show that there was some of the old Longbottom spirit left in him. But pop stars aren't allowed to trip on their shoelaces, or admit to inner doubt, and Neville excelled at playing pop stars. So she controlled that irrational part of her, which wanted to reach out and knock the teapot right out of those strong, manicured hands, and instead silently watched an old school friend making a cup of tea, pretending that that's all there was to it.  
  
* * *  
  
After triumphantly dispatching an owl to Terry with a shiny lock of Nevilles famous hair - 'Voted Best 'do by Witch Wurzel Shampoo!' - Hermione had proceeded to get mind-numbingly, blissfully drunk in Hogsmeade. It had not been her initial intention when she had got up that morning, but seeing Neville always depressed her. It was like visiting an old grandfather who had suddenly aged and become a wreck of the man you remembered laughing with as a child; frail and withered. Except that Neville was supposed to be in the prime of his youth, he was a success story, a fairy tale, a teen idol pin-up.  
  
By the time she made a move back to Hogwarts however she had sobered up considerably, reaching that final stage of morose self-examination. As if sensing the probable volatility of a rain-drenched and only drink sodden resident, the door obligingly swung open after only the briefest period of haggling. Although, as per usual, the doorknocker managed to get the last word in, shouting out viciously as the door was closing behind Hermione that ".A DRUNKEN HOGWARTS TEACHER IS A DISGRACED HOGWART TEACHER! I COULD TELL YOU ABOUT PROFES-" However, thankfully the door had slammed shut by this point.  
  
She crossed the room to the fireplace, noticing a parchment lying in the grate. Picking it up she slit open the seal and unrolled the crisp paper, to find a terse, but informative note from Terry, confirming that he had received the sample.  
  
She wandered into her room with the intention of changing into a fresh set of robes, but was diverted upon spying a freshly drawn bath waiting for her to sink into. Yes, sometimes there were definite benefits about living at a school for magic.  
  
* * *  
  
Half an hour later Hermione was enjoying further benefits of her temporary teaching post as she tucked into a piping hot meal of steak pie and creamy mashed potato that instantly made her forget the inhospitable weather raging outside the solid stone walls.  
  
She had just been telling Dumbledore a heavily edited version about her visit to Neville - something that had amused him greatly.  
  
"Who would have predicted this, perhaps not even the great inner eye of Sybil Trelawney," And here his eyes twinkled mischievously "Neville Longbottom, the bashful young man who was forever losing that toad of his, achieving such things. I only wish his parents could have lived to see what their son had made of himself. although perhaps such things are for the best."  
  
Dumbledore looked pensively into the distance, before excusing himself from the high table. In the years since its disbandment he had taken the losses from the Order of the Phoenix to heart. Sometimes, when Hermione heard him talk of the past before Lord Voldemort was vanquished, she felt that the waver in his voice had less to do with his plea of old age, than a deep, throbbing well of regrets stored poisonously deep within.  
  
Hermione had been observing Snape out of the corner of her eye throughout her conversation with Dumbledore and was gratified to find that he bore an expression that would have curdled milk from twenty paces. As soon as Dumbledore had vanished through the Great Doors he turned his entire body round to face Hermione, fixing black eyes full of hatred on her. She suddenly had the horrible feeling of being trapped, as though her chair legs were glued to the floor.  
  
"I suppose you find it amusing that foolish boys with little talent or intelligence to recommend them, who are a danger to themselves and others, have such a prominent place in the world? Perhaps it makes you feel that there's hope after all?"  
  
"No, I always looked to you as a role model when I needed that sort of affirmation." She could not forget all those years of misery he had piled on poor Neville. Maybe if he had received more support he. but no, she could fill the world ten times over with 'what ifs.'  
  
"Tsk. And I always thought Potter had held the monopoly on arrogance in your defiant trio of stupidity. Perhaps when you are a respected scholar in your own right rather than a mere glorified librarian you can pass such judgements on your colleagues."  
  
Hermione blushed. He seemed to have a gift for exposing raw nerves and stabbing them ruthlessly.  
  
"And what have you been up to this week Severus? Marking third year essays, prowling the corridors for misbehaviour, or even babysitting detentees?" It was Snape's turn to stiffen. The girl knew nothing.  
  
"I warn you Miss Granger not to question the value of my work. By doing so you merely underline your own ignorance and misplaced sense of superiority. You may think yourself very important carrying that Ministry of Magic file around with you like a battering ram, but I assure you, within certain circles there is nothing impressive about such a position. Do not delude yourself otherwise."  
  
The rest of the diners blurred out of focus and significance, the only sound in the enclosed room Snape's words cutting through the heavy atmosphere. She knew what and who he was talking about, of course, and felt as though he had collapsed her house of cards with one swift blow. Perhaps she was still upset from her visit to Neville, or had participated in one too many of these petty mudslingings, but Hermione suddenly felt an overwhelming urge to slap Snape right here in the Great Hall in front of all the students. Instead, she let the uncensored words she had been dying to say since day-one roll off her tongue and escape.  
  
"I suppose I've got that sort of enlightenment to look forward to haven't I? Only I need to qualify for that wisdom first, by becoming a turncoat to a dark wizard say, or a vindictive bully driven by a pathetic obsession with the past, or even a frustrated accademic constantly spurned from a coveted post for obvious reasons, or perhaps all three? Then I'll cast judgement on everyone else because my own life has been such a failure and I simply can't bear to watch others make something of themselves. I'll - I'll sneer down at everyone else to hide the fact that I've got nothing to show for my efforts."  
  
To her surprise Snape leaned back in his chair and smiled. It was the first time he had ever smiled at Hermione Granger.  
  
"Is that what you really think, that I'm. jealous of you?"  
  
"I - you -I - of course not!" she snapped.  
  
"How. interesting. You know, I find it quite remarkable the effect that a few wasted years spent studying obscure and useless branches of magic, can have on a personality. It often becomes the case that such people can delude themselves into believing that their meaningless research is worthwhile, and, by default, their very existence."  
  
To her horror Hermione felt tears pricking beneath her eyes. Why did he always have to be so. so horrible? So pugnacious? She had to get out of the Hall - now.  
  
"Excuse me." She pushed past him, hair whipping out behind her, across Snape's face.  
  
He gave a grim smile of satisfaction. Some people were just so. predictable. It was all just a matter of finding the weak spots - the bruises - and exploiting them. It didn't matter whether or not his words were true, merely that she believed them. The amusing thing was that he actually found her work quite interesting. She'd written quite a few papers that had made their way into some of the journals he regularly read. But, if she would insist on provoking him and playing with fire then she would have to accept the burns.  
  
Watching the last of the diners leave - a boisterous cluster of third year Gryffindors and a lone Slytherin girl - he rose from the High Table, his supervisory duty over.  
  
As he swept along the dungeons towards his chambers he almost didn't notice the small figure, hunched up against the wall, wracked by silent sobs. Honestly, students weren't supposed to be down here.  
  
"Ahem." Snape cleared his throat roughly.  
  
"Oh!" Big round eyes looked around uncertainly, then widened with shock, in tandem with Snape's own surprise.  
  
"Miss Granger. I am so glad my words of wisdom have had such an impact on your blustering ego." No, he hadn't expected this. She had always seemed so damned strong, not the type of girl given to the feminine trick of tears. He wondered what on earth she was doing down here.  
  
Hermione wiped her tears away with the sleeve of her robe. She was unsure what to do. She had been caught out and her pride was injured. The one thing that she was sure of was her mounting anger.  
  
"You just can't help yourself can you?"  
  
A smirk played on the corners of his mouth. "I assure you that - "  
  
"This is all people are to you isn't it? No more than a set of emotions to play around with, manipulate - never mind the consequences. You're no better than Voldemort was - just filth."  
  
The dark mask that descended over his face warned Hermione that she had pushed him too far and she made to leave. But he was quicker than her, and before she could go he darted forward and clamped a hand tightly around her neck, slamming her against the wall.  
  
"Don't you dare presume to - to compare me to - you mudblood bitch!" He spat his words at her, a dangerous flush creeping up his face. Hermione was scared, the only time she had ever seen Snape this angry was the night she'd helped Sirius Black escape from the Dementors. But another half of Hermione was exhilarated, the half that saw the effect her words could have.  
  
"What's the matter, truth hurts? They say a leopard never changes its spots, Death-eater."  
  
"What did you call me?" He pressed his face aggressively into hers, so close that she could feel his hot breath against her face. The stones in the wall behind were digging painfully into her back. She tried to push him away from her space. She splayed her fingers against his chest and stomach and met with a surprising amount of resistance as the hard muscles hidden beneath his robes tensed at her touch. She dropped her hands as though they had been burned. Snape laughed harshly then pressed himself firmly against the length of her body, blocking off any escape route. Hermione stiffened, she could feel his chest heaving erratically against hers, her heartbeat hammering madly against his ribcage. She shivered involuntarily.  
  
"Not so cocky now are we, Miss know-it-all."  
  
"Get your hands off me! Now!"  
  
"No one can hear you down here. No Gryffindor lackeys to get you out of your self-created predicament." He released his grip on her throat - slightly - but she could feel his other hand snaking round to her sides. His long, scorching fingers gripped cruelly around her wrists, pinning them expertly behind her back, forestalling Hermione's attempt to reach her wand.  
  
"Had some practice here have we? This how you get your kicks, Severus?"  
  
"Believe me, a buck-toothed imbecile would be the last person I'd turn to for pleasure. No, I think Miss Granger merely needs reminding what I am -"  
  
"- Oh don't think I'll ever forget what you are -"  
  
"- needs reminding what I am capable of - should I wish it. Don't provoke me, Granger, you cannot hope to win. Consider this a friendly warning." Snape released his grip on her throat completely and withdrew his other hand from behind, but the crushing pressure of his body against hers was still conspicuous. Hermione shifted uncomfortably and, as if suddenly noticing his intimate physical presence, Snape looked down where their bodies joined and backed away hastily, leaving only a tingling imprint of his body heat.  
  
Hermione looked at her old Potions Master with shock. All the caustic remarks and vindictive behaviour; she'd always thought it was just words. She was shaking. With fear, hurt, anger, she wasn't sure.  
  
"Don't. Ever. Touch. Me. Again. Consider that a warning - an unfriendly one." She whipped her wand out and pointed it straight at Snape's pale face. "Because I swear to God, if you give me reason I will!"  
  
"Stay out of my way, then." He swept past; a flutter of black robes as he retreated down the dungeon corridor.  
  
* * *  
  
And she had stayed out of his way. Or he had stayed out of hers. She couldn't tell, but either way the next week was conspicuously Snape-free. Dumbledore provided even more credence to Hermione's belief that he was omniscient within Hogwart's walls, when he re-located her table place so that she was seated next to the amiable Professor Flitwick.  
  
Even so, Hermione was extremely glad when Sunday came and she was able to return to London, to her cosy and familiar flat. Although the initial enthusiasm faded somewhat when she saw the weeks worth of dirty dishes that had been left festering in the sink by Harry, Ron, and half a rugby squad if the sheer variety was anything to go by.  
  
"Aw, but you're so much better at it than us." Ron had whined whilst Harry nodded sagely in the background.  
  
"It's the potions brewer within isn't it? She can get the soap to water ratio just right."  
  
"Look, this isn't the sodding 'Famous Five', you know, where you boys go off and climb trees while perfect little Anne obediently sweeps the floor and bakes scones back at the cottage"  
  
"Of course it isn't. We don't like scones." Ron had paid for that last comment with a squirt of washing up liquid in the face. "Her-mi-o-nee! That went in my eye!" Which had resulted in a brief, but intense, water duel, and the unavoidable conclusion that Ron and Harry should wash their own dishes in the future.  
  
It was nice being back home, Hermione reflected as she snuggled under her duvet at the end of the day. Even Ron's incessant bickering and Harry's smelly feet were strangely comforting. She smiled to herself. OK, maybe she didn't miss everything about living with her two best friends.  
  
She laid her head down on the pillow, releasing a small murmur of satisfaction. But once she tried to sleep her mind refused to rest and kept replaying the confrontation with Snape over and over, until her brain began to feel like little more than a projector set. She remembered his harsh words. Then the feel of his surprisingly strong body pressed against hers. The horrible feeling of powerlessness. Maybe that was why she had reacted so strongly to Ron and Harry's mess before; she didn't want to be just another helpless female stereotype. She wondered if Snape was still thinking about their clash.then realised that that would require a conscience.  
  
* * *  
  
"What's the matter with you today Severus?" Septimus had just disarmed his fencing companion for the fifth time. "Do you want time out?"  
  
Snape bristled, trying to calm his shallow breathing as he brushed a plastered strand of sweaty hair from his face.  
  
"That will be quite unnecessary. En garde!" He whipped his fencing foil into the start position, waiting for his companion to follow suit.  
  
"Well, your funeral. En garde!"  
  
A quick clash of foils and Snape once again found his neck on the receiving end of a sharp metal point to the throat.  
  
"Damn it, boy. When did you get so good?"  
  
"When you got so bad! Seriously, whatever it is that's got your back up so much, spit it out! It certainly isn't doing your fencing any favours."  
  
Snape sighed. He supposed Septimus was right about one thing - he couldn't concentrate properly on the subtle art of fencing when he could still feel anger and irritation coursing through his veins.  
  
"Oh it's just work. I had a. run-in with one of my colleagues earlier this week."  
  
Septimus rolled his eyes. The effect was to make him look even younger than his boyish jawline and rosy cheeks implied. No, Snape thought to himself, it was hard to believe that this was a man fast approaching thirty. Despite his broad build, he still managed to carry himself with the sort of childish enthusiasm usually vanquished by the time one reached ones mid- twenties.  
  
"Who's the Head gone and appointed now? Another hated Hogwart's contemporary? A Vampire? A Ministry of Magic bigwig? The Pope?"  
  
"Only the most annoying student ever to taint my classroom."  
  
Septimus tried to conceal his amusement, his uncle had a hidden flair for the dramatic. It was as though for the rest of the world it was merely raining, but for Severus it was a force five typhoon, concentrated solely on him.  
  
"What, Neville Longbottom's seen the light and decided to shun fame and riches in favour of the ascetic life? Rita Skeeter will be having a field day."  
  
"The other bane of my teaching life."  
  
"Harry Potter? The Boy Who Lived becomes the Boy Who Teaches?"  
  
"Well at least you're getting close." He snapped back. "It's that mindless crony of his, Hermione Granger. Why Dumbledore thought that -"  
  
"What, Hermione Granger, Order-of-Merlin-Hermione-Granger?"  
  
"Yes, I believe there was some unnecessary fuss a few years ago about some novel potion or other." Still, Snape was surprised that his nephew had heard about such an obscure piece of research, and his surprise must have shown in his face.  
  
"I don't know what it is you think I do at Durmstrang, but it's not all Quidditch and hexes you know."  
  
"Well, I just didn't think her work was that noteworthy," he replied defensively.  
  
"Oh come, come Uncle Severus, I don't think her accademic ability has much to do with such schadenfreude."  
  
Snape appeared to ponder this for a while.  
  
"I thought you'd be happy working with someone close to your, ah, intellectual equal for once."  
  
"Hermione Granger is nothing approaching my intellectual equal. She is merely a self-important book-worm, who has developed a habit of being in the right place at the right time, by riding on the coat tails of those who do have talent"  
  
As Septimus turned to pack up their gear, a smile played on his face. He wondered.  
  
* * *  
  
As Snape was conceding defeat, Hermione was engaged in a fight of her own. The crowds on the London Underground were just awful, even with the anti- crush wards and touch-repellent hexes that she liberally doused herself with before leaving the house. It was not until she reached the ticket barrier, that she discovered one of the trains had suffered from a mechanical failure, throwing the whole station into pandemonium, as there was a mad dash for alternative transport.  
  
After nearly an hour of struggling through central London on foot, Hermione gave up trying to be honourable, and sneakily cast just the smallest bit of magic, which resulted in a vacant taxi pulling up to the kerbside, against the horrendous flow of traffic. At various times in the journey, Hermione debated whether it would be quicker just to get out and walk until finally the taxi drew up next to the cleverly concealed entrance to the Ministry of Magic.  
  
Hermione glanced in alarm at her wristwatch as she approached Terry's laboratory. Quarter to eleven. As Terry usually arrived an hour before Hermione, she reasoned that he would have missed the train disruption. She knocked on the door once to alert him of her arrival, before pushing the door open, and entering the large, orderly laboratory.  
  
Strange. It was so quiet. Normally there would be several experiments bubbling merrily away, perhaps the odd shatter of glass, and at least the sound of a few fierce flames licking away at pewter cauldrons.  
  
"Terry?" He wasn't here. Neither was any of their apparatus. She flung open the store cupboard, panic replacing confusion. It was empty. Completely empty. She spun around, noting that the blackboard - usually crammed to the margins with complicated formulae - had been scrubbed efficiently clean. The fire proof cabinets where they kept all their workings out for safety; they had to be okay, they were heavily protected against unwelcome intruders. However, even as she neared the corner of the room, she could see the drawers were open on their runners and empty. And Terry. Where was Terry?  
  
Hermione ran out of the room, full of unease as one horrifying scenario after another flashed through her brain.  
  
A life ride and three flights of stairs later, Hermione, clearly flustered, was trying to negotiate her way past Cornelius Fudge's secretary.  
  
"Please, I need to speak to Mr. Fudge urgently."  
  
"Do you have an appointment?" Maeve Worthing was well used to over-excited Ministry of Magic employees misapplying the words 'urgent' and 'important' to fit their own definitions of such things.  
  
"No I don't. That's the thing. Something's happened." Hermione was too breathless to enunciate properly.  
  
"Perhaps if you come back this afternoon after lunch, I can find a small opening.?"  
  
"No I need to see him now. It's not the sort of thing that can wait."  
  
"Well, I can post a memo to him, if you want?"  
  
Why wasn't she listening?  
  
"Look, a laboratory has been broken into, and important documents stolen. I think it's sabotage."  
  
The secretary snorted  
  
"Someone's missing!" Hermione hissed urgently.  
  
"Mr. Fudge asked not to be disturbed. Now I am respecting his wishes and suggest you respect mine by going away and dropping this cock and bull story right now. Really, you think it's that simple for someone to just walk into the Ministry of Magic and kidnap an employee?"  
  
"Why are you being so obtuse?" Hermione shouted, clearly frustrated.  
  
"What's all this noise?" Attracted by the raised voices, Cornelius Fudge had poked his head irritably around the door to his office. "I asked not to be disturbed."  
  
"Mr. Fudge! Thank goodness, there's been an. incident I-"  
  
"This young lady seems to think one of her colleagues has been 'kidnapped.'"  
  
"What utter nonsense! People don't get kidnapped from the Ministry of Magic!"  
  
"But Terry Boot, his laboratory has been ransacked, all our notes have been stolen, and I can't find him anywhere."  
  
"It's more than likely that the young man has taken a well deserved rest from his work. In fact, I believe he was due for some holiday leave," said Fudge and Maeve nodded in agreement. "See, there you go, getting yourself all worked up over nothing. I only wish you'd taken a moment to think before bursting in here making demands on my secretary and my time."  
  
"But Terry never takes holidays, and why would his laboratory be emptied?"  
  
"I think you'll find you've answered your own question there." Fudge's waning patience was beginning to show through his brusque tone. "He obviously wanted to take some of his work away with him. Such a studious young man."  
  
"No, Terry wouldn't do that. He wouldn't just up and leave without telling anyone in the middle of a project."  
  
"I won't tell you again. I consider this matter closed. And unless you want to go the same way as your friend Harry Potter, who also used to enjoy spreading lies and panic, I suggest you return to your desk and stop this nonsense right here."  
  
"Why don't you care? Terry has gone missing and a very important project has been stolen - doesn't that worry you? Don't you find it odd?"  
  
"That's it! You leave me with no option. You can either follow Mr. Boot's lead and go home to use up the remainder of your paid holiday leave or," Fudge reached into a nearby filing cabinet and pulled out a small pink slip of paper, "I can fill in one of these and you can go home on full suspension. Either way, I want you out of this building until you have had a chance to calm down."  
  
Hermione knew there was no choice for her either, a pink slip in her permanent record would dry up funding as effectively as a swastika tattoo to the forehead.  
  
"I think a holiday is just what I need."  
  
"Good girl, you can use my personal fireplace to travel. In the meantime, the Ministry of Magic will be enchanted in order to detect and refuse your entrance here until you return to full-time employment, which will be entirely dependent on your conduct in the next week."  
  
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
  
ACKOWLEDGEMENTS: [a big thank you to beta Azazello for invaluable advice and general helpfulness ] [and hugs to DMers (darkmark.com) who have put up with my incessant fic whinging] 


	3. Have We No Wine?

Chapter 2: Have We No Wine?  
  
If Fudge had expected Hermione to interpret his offer of a 'holiday' literally, then he would have been sorely disappointed. As it was, she had no intention of brooding around the flat by herself, or taking a mini-break away from her non-work. If Fudge wasn't going to take Terry's disappearance seriously, then she would have to take matters into her own hands. And that meant finding Terry.  
  
Looking at things objectively, it seemed perfectly obvious that the disappearance of Terry and the clearance of his laboratory were two inter- related acts. Someone was after the Phoenix Potion.  
  
As Hermione paced the room trying to piece together possible motives, a new horror suddenly dawned on her. She had been uncharacteristically late for work today - what if they had meant to come for her too? She knew as much about the potion as Terry, she knew why they were after Terry, and presumably this would help her understand who was after Terry. But nobody else knew about the potion. Well, apart from Ron and a few of the Quidditch girls, but they had no reason to doubt Terry that the potion was anything more than a harmless lust potion. And none of them would want to - would have the resources to kidnap their colleague. Maybe Terry had been careless. Maybe she had been careless. she had told Malfoy! How could she have been so stupid?  
  
But even Draco didn't know the true potential of the potion; he didn't even know what the potion was. She'd never had the chance to tell him which of Snape's impressive trio of Glory, Fame, or Death she was working on. He had seemed unhealthily keen on the latter, fool that he was. Death was easy; any child could concoct that, but bottling fame? That had always been an enigma. The power of fame could open any door or any heart. Stroll down the street and you were nobody; doors slammed in your face and people pushed you out of the way. Take a swig of Immortal Fame and while its effects flowed through your body, you were invincible, people tripped themselves up in their attempts to obey your every whim. The name was misleading; 'fame' seemed such a fickle word. The Phoenix Potion was more than that: it instilled the strength of charisma; the power of true conviction; a sense of divine purpose - it was pure power distilled. And Malfoy was after it.  
  
Well, pride had got her into this mess, but she was going to make damn sure that it would not keep her floundering in the quagmire she had created. If Fudge would not help her then she would go to a greater wizard who could. Without Harry by her side whispering urgent advice to the contrary, Hermione made up her mind that she would go to Dumbledore for help.  
  
She scribbled a quick note for Harry and Ron, telling them she had some research to do at Hogwarts for the next week. She didn't usually keep secrets from them but knew that neither of them could afford to get into any more trouble with Fudge.  
  
A door slammed loudly somewhere in the building. Hermione shivered. At least she would be safe at Hogwarts, she thought as she began to hastily pack a bag. . Yes, she would go and see Dumbledore.  
  
* * *  
  
"You wanted to see me Headmaster?"  
  
"Yes, do come in Severus."  
  
A black-clad Snape crossed the room toward Dumbledores's desk.  
  
"Please, take a seat." The chintz armchair that usually sat opposite Dumbldore's seat was hastily transfigured into a tall leather smoking chair with a flick of the old Wizard's wand. "Tea, Severus?"  
  
"Naturally."  
  
Dumbledore smiled; he had already begun pouring the cup before waiting for verbal confirmation.  
  
"Biscuit?"  
  
"No thank you."  
  
"Jammy Dodger? Chocolate Hob Nob? Marshmallow Cake?"  
  
Snape declined all offers with a barely discernible shake of the head. He couldn't escape from the strange feeling that Dumbledore was stalling for time. He'd assumed they'd just come to discuss a troublesome Slytherin student, but now he wasn't so sure if there wasn't more to it than that.  
  
Dumbledore watched Snape take a first sip of his tea, and then shifted his glance to some focal point above Snape's head, which was most disconcerting. The silence deepened.  
  
"Headmaster.? Was there something in particular you wanted to discuss?"  
  
"Of course. I'm just waiting for our unexpected guest. No point repeating myself twice!" Dumbledore replied cheerfully.  
  
There was a loud bang behind Snape that caused him to slop hot tea onto his lap.  
  
"Ah, here she is now."  
  
Snape turned around just in time to watch a sooty and disorientated Hermione stumble out from Dumbledore's fireplace.  
  
"Professor Dumbledore, I'm sorry to -"  
  
"- Burst in? Not at all. I was just informing Severus of your imminent arrival."  
  
"But.?" On second thoughts, Hermione decided she didn't want to know. "You know Terry Boot's been kidnapped then?"  
  
"Yes, I am far from friendless within the Ministry of Magic, despite Cornelius's strenuous efforts. I must say, I am most pleased the shock of his disappearance has not caused you to lose those famous Granger sensibilities - Hogwarts really is the best place for you now."  
  
"I assume this has some relevance to me?" Snape raised an eyebrow sardonically, praying to god that Dumbledore's answer would be in the negative and this was all just an unfortunate coincidence.  
  
"Strictly no Severus, but I rather thought it might be something that would interest you enough to volunteer involving yourself with." Snape very much doubted that this was possible, but Dumbledore's genial smile silenced any protestation to the contrary. "It seems we have the rather disturbing case of a botched burglary on our hands."  
  
"What has been taken?" Snape spoke slowly, cautiously.  
  
"A quite exquisite potion that I believe Mr. Boot and young Hermione here had been working on. But perhaps I'd better leave the explanation of its many wondrous properties to the expert."  
  
Snape whipped around to glare at Hermione, but she couldn't quite find it in herself to look him fully in the eye. All she could think about was his body pressed so menacingly against hers, his threatening words hissing in her ear. She reddened slightly, and then took a deep breath. She was not going to be intimidated into an inarticulate wreck. She might not have brawn worthy of a Slytherin, but she certainly had the brains necessary for a Ravenclaw, and the courage of a Gryffindor. But this was not going to be easy.  
  
"Remember the speech you gave at our very first potions lesson, about the subtle science of potion making, the power of liquids -"  
  
"-That creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses. The same speech I orate every year for the benefit of foolish wand wavers. Little good though it does me," Snape added bitterly.  
  
Hermione ignored the tetchiness.  
  
"Well it seems that Terry Boot, for one, rather took it to heart. He's been - we've been - trying to bottle fame for the past year. And. we seem to have succeeded at last with our Phoenix Potion."  
  
Snape started, a thousand unspoken technical queries whizzing through his mind, before he managed to refocus his thoughts.  
  
"So, let me recap." Snape pinched the bridge of his nose tightly. "You deigned to create an extremely dangerous weapon out of some misguided attempt at playing God, then allowed it to be stolen by an unknown assailant? Merlin's beard!"  
  
Dumbledore sat in silence; he rather thought it was best to leave the pair of them to it, although if one of them began haemorrhaging dangerously he supposed he'd probably intervene.  
  
"We don't all create powerful substances with the intention of using them for the Dark Arts you know!" Hermione snapped, desperately wishing that she could think of an example to support her case.  
  
"Indeed. How does that muggle saying go. 'the road to hell is paved with good intentions'? Well I think you and Mr. Boot have just re-tarmaced a good section of the route."  
  
Hermione opened her mouth then shut it again.  
  
"You said it was a botched burglary?" Snape had turned back to Dumbledore, ignoring Hermione.  
  
"Indeed. They didn't quite manage to take everything. I severely doubt whether the potion can be activated without this key ingredient."  
  
Hermione snapped out of her reverie just in time to catch Snape's eye. She looked down in embarrassment.  
  
"They took everything. I saw for myself; the laboratory was completely emptied." Hermione breathed, the gravity of the situation beginning to sink in.  
  
"You see, not quite everything."  
  
When Hermione did not reply to Dumbledore's twinkling encouragement, a resigned Snape leant forward, fixing her with a steely gaze.  
  
"He means you, Miss Granger."  
  
* * *  
  
Holed up in a laboratory at some unknown location Terry was beginning to sweat. Maybe it was just the heat from the blue flame he was leaning over, or maybe it was the tall figure who was leaning over him, hissing admonitions into his ear.  
  
"I thought you said the potion had been completed? Why isn't it working?"  
  
"I don't know. it doesn't make any sense..." Terry peered at a chart full of numbers and complicated looking formulae. But they must have made some sense to him for he reached forward and circled a section. "Certainly the data is consistent with the intended effect. See," he tapped the end of his quill against the highlighted section "the catalyst is propelling the magnesium oxide -"  
  
"I don't care if the Pope is shitting in the woods. Just get the potion working and then send for me."  
  
He stomped out of the room, a flurry of crisp robes as the door slammed behind him.  
  
Terry gulped. The air in the damp room had suddenly become much thinner.  
  
* * *  
  
Hermione was still seated in the Headmaster's Office, waiting for Dumbledore and Snape to return from luncheon in the Great Hall. She might not be supposed to be at Hogwarts, but the Head and the Potions Master most certainly were.  
  
She glanced around the empty room, a funny tingling sensation spread out from her stomach at the thought of being left alone in the nerve centre of Hogwart's. Just as that small, yet perennially ignored, voice in the back of her head was urging her to open some of the drawers to Dumbledore's desk, or take a peek inside the leather bound diary, another voice spoke up behind her.  
  
"Would this latest pickle you've landed yourself in have anything to do with our friend Harry Potter, perchance?"  
  
Hermione swung round to face Phineas Nigellus's portrait. She should have known it would be him.  
  
"You know, I'm not some detached being whose fortune is determined by everybody else's actions, I do have some control over my destiny." The hesitant tone of Hermione's voice turned the intended insult into a hurt defence.  
  
"Suit yourself." Phineas shrugged his shoulders and disappeared out of his portrait. Not for the first time Hermione wondered whether some of his blood still ran through Snape's veins. They both had that annoying trait of appearing completely disinterested and disdainful of everything that went on around them. However, even her envy was aware that such calm dignity came at a high price; namely the isolation of the self. If no man is an island, Snape had certainly made himself into some sort of peninsula. Hermione could only imagine what it must feel like to be completely cut adrift, immune to praise and insults alike - independent.  
  
She sat up as she heard muffled voices, then the sound of the doorknob turning as Dumbledore entered. Behind him slid a resentful looking Snape, who looked as though he had chosen a particularly sour dish for lunch. His lip curled in distaste when he caught sight of Hermione in the tall upright chair.  
  
"Ah, glad to see you're still here safe and well! Severus and I have just been discussing strategy." Dumbledore beamed at Hermione as he took his customary seat behind the large desk.  
  
"Strategy?" Hermione distinctly saw Snape roll his eyes. "What has Sn - Severus got to do with this?"  
  
"Well I rather thought he might be of some help to you. It appears to me that we have an escalating situation on our hands. Someone has broken into the Ministry of Magic and stolen a very powerful, a very dangerous, project. Yet the snatching of Terry seems to suggest this thief is no Potions expert."  
  
"So you think Terry is still alive then?" Relief flooded over Hermione, as the unspoken implications of Dumbledore's words caught her straight away.  
  
"Oh yes, he'll be quite safe; he is far too valuable an asset. We can only assume that they meant to take you also, to wipe out any evidence of Project Phoenix ever existing - Merlin knows, Cornelius washed his hands of all knowledge quickly enough. You, however, appear to be a liability to that plan."  
  
"You mean I'm next." It was more a statement than a question.  
  
"I'm afraid I'm rather inclined to think so too. The older staff will be informed of your presence at Hogwarts, but I think it best if you make sure none of the students see you in the halls," Dumbledore sighed, leaning back in his chair.  
  
"Is there anything I can do? To stop this? My knowledge of the potion must be second only to Terry's."  
  
"You may yet have a chance to stop all this in its tracks, but I believe it all depends on how the potion was brewed?" Dumbledore turned to Snape, who had been standing looking out of the window into Hogwart's grounds, his back to the others. On hearing the quizitive tone of Dumbledore's voice, he spun round to face the room again.  
  
"Hermione, what did you use as the primary root seed for the potion - I believe traditional wisdom surrounding the myth of Immortal Fame has emphasised the need for two root seeds?" As Snape drawled offhandedly, Hermione felt as though she had been transported back seven years into a classroom again, and coloured slightly.  
  
"A phoenix feather. From Fawkes." she replied.  
  
"And did you add it yourself?"  
  
Hermione didn't need to think too hard; it was after all, little more than a week ago that Terry had dropped in the penultimate ingredient, before testing the result on Ron. She shook her head, unsure from Snape's expression whether this was good or bad.  
  
"And the secondary root seed - who added that?"  
  
Hermione bit her lip.  
  
"Terry again. At least I assume he did - I wasn't actually there, I just collected the seed for him."  
  
"That is most unfortunate. If it had been by your wand we could have attempted to cast a Reversi Incantium spell."  
  
Hermione nodded, deeply impressed that Hogwart's Potions Master was able to perform such a complicated procedure that required the tricky combination of Finite Incantium and Prior Incantium. Snape raised an eyebrow at her response, surprised that she was familiar with such an obscure charm. It was an archaic spell that had not appeared in print for nearly two centuries, having fallen out of use to be replaced by more evolved, yet less relevant charms.  
  
"What about a Sourcius Procurus spell?" Hermione succeeded in surprising Snape for the second time in as many minutes. Well, well, perhaps her arrogance was founded on something after all.  
  
"The pull of your limited claim on the potion is not strong enough." Any admiration he may have felt was hidden behind the usual brusque tone of his voice. "I think we are going to have to go about this the old-fashioned way."  
  
Hermione frowned in puzzlement.  
  
"A manual neutralising potion," Snape sneered patronisingly.  
  
* * *  
  
Septimus stared in wonderment at some of the titles on the tall bookshelf. Some of these hadn't been in print for decades! He pulled a dusty tome out from the very top and whistled appreciatively. Correction: some of these hadn't been in print for centuries. He wondered if Uncle Severus had read them all. He supposed it wasn't as if he had anything else to do with his time, no familial distractions to speak of. He had to admit, there was a definite whiff of a bachelor pad about Snape's chambers - not least of all the obsessive tidiness that pervaded throughout.  
  
He bent down to look at more of his uncle's extensive library that had been stowed away in cupboards below the in-built wooden shelving. He was surprised to find muggle literature mixed in with the more conventional Wizarding texts. His references ranged from Tolstoy, Poe, Shakespeare, Virgil, Dickens, Defoe, Swift, Hardy, Dante, and Cicero. quite the Renaissance man, Septimus thought with amusement.  
  
"My God wonders never cease; Septimus with a book in his hand."  
  
Septimus jumped about a foot in the air.  
  
"Don't worry, your secret's safe with me," Snape smirked.  
  
"Why do you always do that, sneak up on people?"  
  
"I do not 'sneak', I merely tread without the usual clumsy clodhoppings of the inelegant."  
  
"Well I'm glad you're back, I'm about ready to faint from hunger! Shall we go to dinner?" Septimus' stomach rumbled loudly in applause.  
  
"Ah."  
  
"What do you mean, 'ah'? Don't 'ah' a hungry person."  
  
"There has been a change of plan. You are not to dine in the Great Hall this evening."  
  
"Wow! I know Severus Snape's hospitality isn't exactly famed, but I'd never heard of him actually starving his guests before."  
  
"Don't worry, you'll get your daily bread, there's just been a change of venue. The House Elves are going to bring a platter of food down here."  
  
Septimus cocked his head and looked at Snape quizzically.  
  
"Apologies dear nephew, but I'm afraid you've drawn the short straw - you are to dine with Miss Granger."  
  
* * *  
  
Dumbledore surveyed the Great Hall with a grave expression on his face. Amongst all the chattering, happy faces it was hard to imagine that there might be a snake in the grass. But you couldn't blame the children; it was the sins of the fathers. The Malfoy juniors of this world. Attitudes and prejudice bred, not formed. Yet it still pained him that he could not trust his own students with the knowledge of Miss Granger's presence.  
  
Dumbledore turned to Snape, not for the first time glad to have such a man by his side.  
  
"How is young Septimus finding Hogwarts? I do hope you're going to give him a proper tour."  
  
"Ah, you wish me to show him what he's missing at Durmstrang?"  
  
Dumbledore's eyes twinkled.  
  
"Oh no, far be it from me to poach another school's Flying Teacher, despite the lengthy vacancy of our own post. Did you know, last week we had Miss Granger teaching Quidditch to the third years? I think she probably learnt more in that hour, than in her whole five years of tutelage from Madame Hooch - at least she now knows how to fall off safely at any rate."  
  
The mental image of Hermione clinging to a broom handle for dear life caused Snape to smile -slightly. He had not shown much aptitude for the subject himself during his time at Hogwarts; he had felt on much safer ground studying disciplines that could be learnt from books.  
  
"Well his timing was impeccable as usual," Snape replied dryly, "I suppose this latest mess Miss Granger has dragged us all into will take up most of my time."  
  
Dumbledore hid a small smile behind his silver beard. He couldn't think of a project more tailored to Snape's interests and passions than the Phoenix Potion conundrum.  
  
"I only hope Septimus hasn't been driven out of Hogwarts already by his inane dinner company. Believe me, I speak from bitter experience. Headmaster."  
  
Dumbledore's smile widened beneath his useful concealment.  
  
* * *  
  
Hermione had been a little disconcerted on first meeting Septimus. It was like coming face to face with a young Snape - or at least nose to nose. He had that same prominent hooked nose and strikingly black hair, but his face was slightly rounder and had a lot more colour in it. And gosh, Hermione could almost find him attractive. Especially after her fifth goblet of wine.  
  
She was enjoying his company a lot more than she thought she would, upon first hearing who she was to be dining with, and was grateful for Dumbledore's consideration. The Snape likeness seemed to be only skin deep for she found Septimus surprisingly easy to talk to. Especially after her fifth goblet of wine. Hermione had even felt emboldened to nose around Snape's sitting room, predictably enough delighting at his superb library ("But what has he got Jane Austen for?"). She had also had a giggle over some truly disturbing Dark Arts paraphernalia that had puzzled her for a long time, until Septimus had slyly whispered in her ear what purpose they served - to her great embarrassment.  
  
"You're not like your uncle at all, are you?"  
  
"Is that a compliment?" Hermione had the good grace to blush. "Well we're not actually related that closely. I'm his cousin's son, but the age difference means he's always been just plain Uncle Severus to me."  
  
"I knew it! Faith in my own intuitive skills has been restored - there is no way that man does not suffer from a severe case of only child syndrome." She lunged forward for her sixth goblet of wine, missing her target by several inches.  
  
"I gather the two of you don't exactly see eye to eye?" Septimus took a measured sip from his own goblet, eyeing Hermione keenly.  
  
"You could say that," Hermione sighed, suddenly feeling maudlin. She took a reinforcing sip of wine. "As a student here, I tried everything to wring some grudging praise out of him. As a student teacher, I've tried everything just to wring a grudging civility out of the man. He's just. impossible! Infuriating! So damn hard to please."  
  
"Yet you want to please him?" Dark eyes regarded Hermione over the brim of a goblet.  
  
"Yes. No. I don't know. Is it awfully sad for a grown woman to still yearn for the respect of an old teacher?  
  
"Probably. But then what worth is praise that can be won so easily?"  
  
"Well it's probably worth more than Snape's hatred. Not that that's difficult to earn."  
  
"Come, he doesn't hate you."  
  
"Last week he spat in my face, called me a mudblood bitch, physically assaulted me, then threatened me with. well actually I have no idea what he was threatening, but it sounded impressive anyway."  
  
Septimus leaned forward and laughed pleasantly, and for some reason Hermione was able to find humour in the situation too.  
  
"That would explain his abysmal standard of fencing then. If it's any consolation, he seemed pretty shook up about his behaviour - and I think that's the closest he gets to contrite. You've got to understand, he doesn't like the feeling of losing control, but when he does lose control. well, he makes up for all those times of repressed self-discipline in one fell swoop."  
  
"You're trying to interpret the psychology of Snape? Point one, I don't think we've drunk nearly enough wine yet, and point two, I think we'd be here all night."  
  
"There's no reason for either of those points to go unfulfilled." Septimus reached over and topped his goblet up with more wine, before crossing the space between their two armchairs and taking Hermione's goblet out of her hand, on the pretext of a refill. "Severus is a fool."  
  
Hermione looked up, surprised at this sudden non-sequiteur, to find two black eyes staring intently into her own. For some reason her own eyes refused to blink. Those dark eyes reminded her so very much of Snape's, but without the same feeling of depth. Staring into Snape's eyes was like looking down into the abyss, but Hermione could see her reflection in Septimus'. But then maybe she had never been this close to Snape before.  
  
"You really are quite delightful you know." Septimus reached out and brushed Hermione's cheek with the back of his hand. "Quite delightful." He trailed his hand slowly down her face, under her chin, and lightly down the side of her neck. Hermione responded instinctively, her eyes half-closing with the deliciousness of his careful touch. His fingertips were now making little circular motions on the bare flesh above the neckline of her robes, and the roughness of his hardened skin sent a shiver rippling over her exposed flesh.  
  
Hermione suddenly snapped her eyes open again. What was she doing? This was Snape's nephew! But before she could return fully to reality, his other arm had circled behind her back and he had begun stroking her firmly down the length of her spine, his knuckles ribbing and kneading downwards. She arched her back appreciatively and let of a small unbidden murmur of pleasure. She had been working so hard for so long, she felt as though Septimus was slowly unravelling a large knot that had accumulated without her noticing. It felt so good to be touched by large, strong hands - just a little longer she promised herself, then she would pull away.  
  
"Feel good?" He whispered into her face, tilting her chin so that she was once again looking into Snape's - no, Septimus' she reminded herself - eyes. They seemed to be asking a question, which Hermione answered by pressing her hips forward into Septimus, responding to the sudden pressure on her lower back.  
  
Septimus was just lowering his mouth to Hermione's, and she could just feel the warmth from his lips - the point of almost contact, of built up tension and anticipation - when the door flung open.  
  
"Well, Well, Well," Snape smirked as he strode unabashedly into the room, "Sudden lapse in judgement, Septimus?"  
  
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * 


	4. The Morning After the Night Before

Chapter 3: The Morning After the Night Before  
  
Terry had been up all night, and it showed. His eyes looked stretched and misshapen, his skin creased and dehydrated. His hair had always made him look older than his few years. He had been fifteen when he had noticed the first grey hairs appear amongst the dark brown ones like spun silver. Strangely it now had the effect of making him look younger; rumpled erratically from hours of frustrated fingers running through it, his tousled locks could almost be considered boyish. Or just further evidence of his consigned status as a mad scientist he thought dryly.  
  
It didn't help that He kept interrupting at irregular intervals, agitating for results. He didn't seem grasp the subtlety of his science - correction - his art. Not for the first time, Terry thought bitterly how his talents and his work were wasted on such people. They didn't understand the process, didn't seem to want to understand, wallowing merrily in their own pit of ignorance. That's why he preferred to work alone, with the only person he could rely on to show some initiative, some genius. Or at least someone who recognised his initiative and genius. Hermione. If she were here, things would be going so differently.  
  
* * *  
  
If Terry had known that his treasured protégéé was currently obsessing endlessly about an aborted clinch with Durmstrang's Flying Teacher, his wistful admiration might have been dampened somewhat. She tossed and turned in her suddenly unbearable bed, before giving up all pretence at trying to sleep, and lighting her wand with the Lumos spell.  
  
She pulled on her dressing gown, shivering slightly at the cool dawn temperature, then padded into her sitting room. Her own library suddenly seemed much less impressive after her snatched peek at Snape's - and it wasn't as though she was going to be able to borrow any of his treasures before sometime soon in the next century.  
  
Hermione stretched and yawned, annoyed that she should be overwhelmed by a wave of tiredness after only stepping out of her bed. She pulled out a well- worn book from the middle shelf, and proceeded to make a little nest for herself in her favourite armchair by the still smouldering fire.  
  
* * *  
  
While Hermione dozed in fits and starts by the fire, Terry was finally starting to get somewhere with his own little conundrum.  
  
"Of course!" For the first time since his ordeal had begun he almost smiled. Hermione would have smiled too if she were there with him - she was always berating him for thinking out aloud.  
  
But he was excited now, jotting down notes at an electric speed as the solution to his woes spread out across the parchment page - like a spider weaving his web. But no matter, the time for aesthetics would come later, he had other priorities right now. He had to trap all his thoughts onto parchment quickly, before his inspiration left.  
  
* * *  
  
Snape was watching a magenta liquid slowly drip, drip through distillation, checking that the apparatus was properly secured and all was as it should be. He was a fastidious potions brewer, even for potions of seemingly little import, but especially for potions such as this one, whose only test would only come with its use.  
  
There was knock at the door to his classroom. He scowled.  
  
"Enter!" He didn't need to be a skilled Legilimens to know who was interrupting his work in such an annoying manner. Snape didn't look up as Hermione opened the door, and crossed the room to the bench he was working at.  
  
"Severus, Dumbledore sent me to tell you that he was taking your nephew on a tour of Hogwarts grounds before breakfast." Hermione couldn't quite bring herself to speak Septimus' name to Snape. "Er, is there anything I can do?" She hovered uncertainly in the background, not sure what his reaction would be after last night.  
  
Snape was just about to reassure her that her 'help' was almost definitely not required when a malicious thought crossed his mind. Well, why not?  
  
"Yes there is actually."  
  
Hermione looked up eagerly.  
  
"You can wash out those petri dishes."  
  
Several sinkfulls of hot water later, and Hermione had barely reached base camp of the mountain of dirty apparatus awaiting attention. It seemed as though Snape had piled equipment from a weeks worth of lessons onto the wash trolley. Not to mention the small army of fermenting coffee cups, which she really shouldn't have to clean for Snape, but did so anyway with a quick flick of her wand, doubting very much whether there was anything reactive enough in caffeine to necessitate manual cleaning. As she placed a clean cup on the draining board, she suddenly remembered something from her school days.  
  
"Hey, didn't this used to be a punishment in your detentions?"  
  
Severus looked up from the scrolls of essays he had been marking, the corner of his lip rising slightly in a half-smile that Hermione missed as her back was turned.  
  
"Well done, Miss Granger. Indeed I did delegate such tasks to my more tedious charges."  
  
Hermione refused to rise to the bait, she thought she owed Snape that much at least. Besides, she dreaded to think how he would use his latest piece of information about her private life in his growing arsenal of insults. She scrubbed at a blackened stain harder, trying to remove its irritating presence.  
  
After another hour spent silently scrubbing furry residues, and smelly memories of past experiments, Hermione thought she had bloody well earned some intellectual conversation from her austere companion, especially as she was foregoing breakfast for this.  
  
"So how are you intending to use this neutralising potion?"  
  
"Book of Potions, Grade 2, page 78: '.once the potion has turned from a rich magenta to a mellow purple, remove the flask and pour over the potion you wish to neutralise.'" he quoted lazily.  
  
"Actually, I think you'll find the second half of that sentence carries onto page 79," Hermione snapped back, again missing that strange half-smile that he had come to reserve solely for her. "I meant, how are you going to administer it? We don't even know where the Phoenix Potion is."  
  
"Then perhaps you should say what you mean in future, instead of flattering me on my ability to interpret your cryptic utterances." There was a small pause. "A location charm should suffice. We are waiting for Fawkes to return from an errand this evening, so we can use one of his feathers to match the root seed. It should prove simple enough."  
  
"You know, when you think about it -"  
  
"- I believe the beauty of thinking is that it requires no verbal output."  
  
Hermione fell silent. This was a bridge that was going to take a long time to build.  
  
* * *  
  
Hermione had returned to her rooms before the first bell call could fill the corridors with bleary-eyed school children, shuffling to their first lesson of the day. She had been up since dawn, first reading in front of the fire, then helping Snape in his classroom, and her appetite was beginning to catch up with this unusual routine.  
  
She was just scouting around for the promised House-Elf breakfast tray, when she spotted a large brown owl tapping impatiently on her window. She strode across the room and opened the window, bracing herself for an unpleasant assault from the cold air. The owl hopped in indignantly, and immediately flew over to the fire, appearing to find the mantelpiece a satisfactory perch.  
  
"Ooh! What have we got here?" Hermione always talked to owls as though they were cuddly little kittens, something that greatly annoyed Ron but had seemed to please Pigwidgeon when they were at Hogwarts. She reached forward, and was disappointed to find that it wasn't an unexpected letter, but just a copy of the Daily Prophet that she had forgotten she still subscribed to. "Oh, well! Can't have everything." She brushed the white chest feathers of the tense owl, and placed five knuts in the leather pouch attached to one of its bony feet. It bristled slightly at this uncommon touch, then relaxed under her gentle petting. Seeming to decide this was as good a place as any to rest from his journey, the owl hooted softly once then closed an eye warily.  
  
However, five seconds later its eye sprang open again, as Hermione let out a strangled scream. The owl hooted with obvious annoyance, then flew out of the open window without looking back. If it had, the owl would no doubt have been surprised at the voracious way the strange girl was reading the front page. For, plastered across the front page, was a grinning picture of Neville Longbottom. However, instead of the usual accompanying headlines like 'My Night of Passion with Neville Longbottom' or 'How I Lost Two Stone : Neville's magical diet' was a two inch banner line that simply read: 'MISSING!' Hermione read on:  
  
'Last night, the entire Magical World was reeling with the news that Neville Longbottom is missing. A Missing Person's Report was filed yesterday at 9:29 p.m. while a desperate search began for the famous pop idol.  
  
Neville, whose hits include 'Don't wanna let you go' and the number one smash hit 'Could it be Magic?', was last seen two days ago, when he performed a special concert in aid of St. Mungo's. However, he did not turn up for an awards ceremony later that day, and his continued absence has begun to worry fans.  
  
Could it be that Neville - whose parents suffered from severe mental maladjustment - has fallen ill himself? Or could this be a sinister kidnapping plot? Rita Skeeter, our very own 'Showbiz Kitten', will continue to keep you updated as more leads appear.  
  
Turn to page 3 for an account of Lavender Brown's night of naughtiness with the star.  
  
Turn to pages 4,5, and 7 for a look at Neville's troubled history and tragic childhood.  
  
Have you spotted Neville? Send an owl to our special hotline!  
  
Two old school friends gone in as many days. it seemed almost too much to be just simple coincidence.  
  
* * *  
  
Snape sighed as he packed the last of the potions ingredient away. He was not usually given to such whimsical musings but it had been a particularly trying day today. If he thought the substitution of his breakfast with Miss Granger's presence had been a bad start to the day, it had only got worse. The only good thing that could be said about the day was the impressive rainstorm that had whipped up mid afternoon.  
  
He moved a large shoebox along the shelf of the store cupboard, making space to rearrange some samples more effectively. He could hear Septimus banging around in the adjoining classroom, whistling merrily to himself. He couldn't blame him for being cheerful, but he damn well reserved his right to be irritated by it.  
  
"Hey, what's with the purple goo, Severus?"  
  
Snape bristled; nothing was 'with' the potion, well, apart from a grammatically misplaced conjunction. He kept silent.  
  
"Are you still alive in there? Or do you want some time alone with your special equipment." Septimus snickered.  
  
Snape drifted out of the storeroom like unfurling fog.  
  
"Shame I didn't harbour the same considerations for you last night isn't it?" he sneered, as he set about bottling the neutralising potion before Septimus could investigate further.  
  
"Yes it is rather," Septimus agreed cheerfully, "I must admit, I can rather see why you're so smitten with her now."  
  
Snape's inner poise evaporated as he let out a strangled choking sound.  
  
"Don't get me wrong, not my type at all - she's not a blonde for starters - and far far too studious. But that's practically a wet dream for you isn't it?" Septimus winked at his uncle.  
  
"Sadly some of us carry more extensive criteria for our partners than 'Can she bark in bed?'"  
  
"Perhaps that goes some way to explaining why you're a forty-four year old bachelor."  
  
"And why you're a twenty-nine year old divorcee?"  
  
They both grinned at each other. It hadn't been nearly so much fun being the black sheep of the family until Septimus the perennial black lamb had turned up.  
  
* * *  
  
Hermione had spent the rest of the day cooped up in her room reading. She didn't mind the confinement too much, it was quite nice cosying up to the fire while the wind outside rattled her windows, and sprayed the glass with a fine layer of lake mist - like a persistent sneeze she thought.  
  
It was just beginning to get dark outside, and Hermione's room was lit by the soft glow of a tall lamp, when there was a knock at the door. Puzzled that someone had managed to penetrate the inner corridor, she rose cautiously to the door and peered out of the fisheye peep hole. Snape? What was he doing here?  
  
She opened the door slowly and was surprised to be greeted by the jovial tones of Septimus, although it was not hard to see how she had managed to mistake the nephew for the uncle, as he was draped in Snape's usual uniform of long black robes.  
  
"Hello Hermione!" Just like that, no hint of embarrassment, as though last night had never happened. "How did you get in here?" she realised too late that confusion had replaced politeness. "Well, and a fine 'how do you do' to you too!"  
  
"I mean, well, the only way into this corridor is through a charmed wall, and you have to know which brick to tap and say the password."  
  
"Really? Severus showed me how to get in over there." He pointed to the end of the corridor, where the beautiful walnut wardrobe stood.  
  
"Would you mind showing me?"  
  
"Well we have to go that way anyway - I've been sent to fetch you."  
  
"Oh." Hermione was slightly disappointed that this was not a social visit. But then maybe this way was for the best - she had enough complications and confusions in her life as it was, without adding a new twist. She had just made up her mind to forget about last night, when Septimus brought the subject up himself.  
  
"Listen, I'm sorry about last night. I think I rather acted out of turn."  
  
"Forget about it," she mumbled, pretty sure that was exactly what he was trying to do.  
  
"I never knew talking about my uncle would prove to be such an aphrodisiac." He grinned at Hermione, and she couldn't help but return the smile.  
  
"Anyway, I'm surprised you haven't been told about this doorway." They had just reached the wardrobe, and Septimus was yanking open both doors. "After you."  
  
She stepped into the warm darkness, wondering why she had never thought to look in here for a concealed doorway before - she supposed it had just seemed a little too obvious to someone brought up on C.S. Lewis.  
  
Septimus stepped into the wardrobe, and pulled the doors shut, creating an uncomfortable tension in the confined space.  
  
"Now don't worry, I'm not trying to take advantage of you, but you have to close the doors behind you for this to work. Lumos!"  
  
The interior of the wardrobe lit up, casting Septimus' face with his long, hooked nose into ghoulish relief, so that he suddenly didn't seem so attractive after all.  
  
"Allohomora!"  
  
The back of the wardrobe opened down the middle of the wooden seam. Light flooded in but Hermione's unadjusted eyes were unable to make out what was on the other side. As she stepped out blinking, she started slightly. It was a corridor of exactly the same length and proportions as the one she had just left behind - even the furniture was situated at the same points along. But the suits of armour at the far end were made out of a silver, rather than bronze metal; the walls were panelled with ebony, rather than teak wood, and the carpet was a rich green colour. The darker colour scheme gave the identical corridor a very different feel. It felt. more sensual somehow.  
  
Just as Hermione was about to enquire what was housed down this newly discovered passage her question was answered as the single door set exactly half way down the corridor creaked open and Snape stepped out. All this time she and Snape had been next-door neighbours! There was probably only a single wall separating their bed-rooms. Hermione shuddered.  
  
"Hermione. Dumbledore has sent for us. I thought it best if we used covert channels of transportation, considering your position."  
  
Hermione nodded.  
  
"Erm, is Septimus.?"  
  
"Dumbledore has decided that he will be a useful ally. He has been fully briefed on the situation."  
  
Hermione nodded meekly again, in her distraction not noticing the facial pantomime Snape was conducting in Septimus' direction, as he raised his eyebrows and nodded urgently toward Hermione. Septimus sighed in resignation.  
  
"If you don't mind me asking Hermione, how did you and Terry get around the usual problem with brewing Immortal Fame - namely, how did you get the thyme leaves to react exothermically with the newt hearts?" Septimus enquired, perfectly politely.  
  
Hermione eagerly launched into an explanation of their theory, wondering how long it would take before Snape raised some pedantic objection to her methods. Surprisingly he said nothing, silently leading the way in front of the animated couple.  
  
* * *  
  
Dumbledore waited patiently in his Office, looking out of the window for the familiar rainbow streak that would signal Fawkes's return. He suddenly had the mental image of a younger self, waiting up for teenage children, clucking like a worried mother hen, and smiled to himself.  
  
"Ah, here we are." He opened the window as a decidedly tired and dusty looking Phoenix swooped in.  
  
As if on cue, there was a sharp knock at the door.  
  
"Enter!" Dumbledore swung round to face Snape, Hermione, and Septimus, beaming affably. "Do please take a seat." This time he had transfigured in advance and watched with some satisfaction as Snape arranged himself elegantly into a tall, upright leather chair, Hermione sank into a squashy overstuffed velveteen armchair, and Septimus lowered himself with much unnecessary aplomb onto a waiting beanbag.  
  
"Excellent." Dumbledore wandered over to Fawkes' perch and gently set the bird down. "I believe the neutralising potion is ready Severus?"  
  
"Yes Headmaster." Snape took an opaque vial from the insides of his robes and placed it on the desk in front.  
  
"And Septimus? You have arranged some transportation?"  
  
"My broomstick's ready and waiting Sir." He winked.  
  
"All that remains then is for me to pluck a feather from Fawkes. Due to the power of Phoenix magic the location potion should work immediately." Dumbledore turned to the Phoenix and regarded him gravely. "Sorry about this old chap, but I'm afraid this is going to hurt a bit."  
  
He was just reaching forward when something terrible happened. Hermione, who had only heard Harry describe such an event, almost fell out of her chair with shock as Fawkes burst into brilliant flames. In a matter of seconds, the adult bird was reduced to a smouldering pile of ashes.  
  
"Ah." It seemed that Dumbledore had noticed the problem too.  
  
* * *  
  
"What do you mean it's still not ready?" the tall man thundered menacingly. Terry took his lab goggles off and rubbed his eyes resignedly.  
  
"It'll just take a little longer than planned. I'm not saying I can't do it. Because I can. At least I know why it isn't working now," he paused, "Jeez, you've been waiting long enough anyway."  
  
This was evidently the wrong thing to say. The tall man lunged forward and grabbed Terry by the lapels of his crumpled lab coat.  
  
"That is little comfort to me now!" He yelled into Terry's face, his mouth contorted with rage. Up close, Terry could see every freckle standing out against the man's bright red face. "Why am I even bothering to keep you alive?"  
  
"Look, it'll only be a little longer - I promise! I swear, I know why it isn't working. I can fix it. Just give me the chance!" Terry babbled almost incoherently.  
  
"Explain." He released Terry, who sank down onto a waiting stool, trying to recover his composure.  
  
* * *  
  
Hermione was the first to gather her wits in the stunned silence that followed.  
  
"How long is Fawkes going to take to regrow his feathers?" Panic raised her voice about an octave.  
  
"About a month," Dumbledore replied in a small voice, "It seems I overlooked one very big aspect of our plan."  
  
"Happens to the best of us Sir. We've just got to think laterally." Septimus was still staring in awe at the remains of Fawkes.  
  
Luckily for Septimus, Snape was too caught up in his own calculations to react to his nephew's severe understatement.  
  
"Hermione, the secondary root seed. What sort of ratio are we looking at?"  
  
"It's actually fifty-fifty - it's only called a secondary root because it's added after the primary, it's not a reflection of ratio."  
  
"So technically there's nothing to stop us using a tracking charm on the secondary root seed, it should still exert a strong pull?"  
  
"Very good Severus," Dumbledore nodded in agreement.  
  
"What did you use for the secondary route seed?" Severus had got a scrap of parchment out and was poised ready to write down the answer.  
  
"Er. Neville Longbottom's hair."  
  
Snape's sat very very still, his quill paused unwaveringly over the parchment, frozen in position.  
  
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * 


	5. Bloody Men

Chapter 4: Bloody Men  
  
"Is this a joke? Is Harry Potter about to spring out from behind the curtain and shout 'Surprise!'?" Snape was glaring at Dumbledore, as if he truly believed that this was all part of some elaborate set-up.  
  
"I assure you this is no joke, Severus. It is a grave matter indeed, when it comes in the light of Neville Longbottom's mysterious disappearance." Dumbledore half-heartedly pushed the ashes at the bottom of Fawkes perch around with his wand tip, avoiding Snape's eye.  
  
"Please tell me you have some brains Miss Granger, and saved a few strands of the hair as a control sample?"  
  
"I, erm, wasn't able to do that," Hermione said as gently as she could, aware that Snape was liable to erupt at any minute.  
  
Septimus, who rather felt as though he had been transported into the middle of some French farce, thought it best to say nothing when on such unfamiliar ground.  
  
"No, because heaven forbid that Hermione Granger should actually display some common sense amongst all that alleged genius, and abide by conventional standards of practice."  
  
"Really Severus, control samples were going out of use even in my day!" Dumbledore felt he owed it to Hermione to intervene, since the current situation was largely his fault.  
  
"No they weren't!" Snape barked. "I keep control samples, I still use control samples!" He fidgeted wildly for a few seconds, before rising from his chair striding over to the window.  
  
"We could use this as an opportunity to solve both problems," Septimus spoke for the first time since Hermione's admission, and even Snape turned round from his silent brooding to listen to the latest suggestion. "What if we place some sort of location spell, charm, whatever, on this Longbottom fellow, find him, then use the location potion with one of his hairs?"  
  
"That's the most idiotic thing I ever heard!" Snape snapped back.  
  
* * *  
  
"Well, really it's not a matter of what went wrong, or - or what didn't work," Terry stuttered, half paralysed by the man's piercing glare. "B-but rather who didn't work. What I mean to say is, that I think - no, I know - my lab assistant may have inadvertently placed some of her own influence into the potion."  
  
"Meaning?" The man crossed his arms impatiently, but Terry was pleased to see the colour in his face was slowly beginning to drain away, and he had taken a step backwards. Terry took a deep breath.  
  
"Meaning that it can't be activated without her. I can only activate the primary root seed. I think prolonged contact, perhaps some sort of strong emotional bond, means that only Hermione can activate the secondary root seed."  
  
"Interesting. Of course, you know what this means don't you?"  
  
Terry nodded fearfully, feeling utterly wretched.  
  
"You see it makes no difference in the end. It just would have saved a lot of time and unnecessary bother if we had managed to capture her in the first place."  
  
* * *  
  
Two hours later, Snape was back in his customary state of bored irritation, staring out of the Headmaster's window onto the moonlit grounds of Hogwarts. He had refused point blank to participate in such a ridiculous exercise.  
  
At the opposite end of the room, Dumbledore and Hermione were consulting excitedly over several sheets of parchment. Septimus was supposed to be looking up references for them in Dumbledore's library, but was instead sprawled over his beanbag, reading a Muggle comic from Dumbledore's confiscated stash.  
  
Dumbledore and Hermione had been constructing an Arithmancy chart of all the possible Neville outcomes. So far they had managed to rule out death, illness, and voluntary wandering. They were currently calculating a kidnap line.  
  
"Who would be inclined to kidnap Mr. Longbottom?" Dumbledore stroked his beard thoughtfully.  
  
Snape snorted unhelpfully in the background.  
  
"Surely the person who stole the Phoenix Potion must have realised by now why the Potion isn't performing as it should. And if they really have got Terry working for them, then I don't think it would take him long to realise how to rectify the problem. They must know they need to obtain a fresh, untainted secondary root seed."  
  
"So you're saying you think Neville has been kidnapped by the same person who stole the Phoenix Potion? Probable. But that would leave us in the same quandary," Dumbledore paused, "We need more specific data before we can calculate such a hypothesis. Hermione, I know the project was supposed to be Grade B, but did anyone else know about what you were working on? Anyone at all?"  
  
"Well, Terry tested it on Ron - but obviously there's no way he's a suspect! I mean, I wasn't suggesting that I thought for a moment that -"  
  
"- I understand Hermione. Please continue with anyone else who may have come into contact with the Phoenix Potion."  
  
"Terry mentioned the Quidditch girls, and I suppose that -" Hermione suddenly broke off mid-sentence, struck by an inspiration so powerful that even Snape turned round. "Draco! Draco Malfoy! I told him about it in the elevator at work!"  
  
"Once again Severus Snape's empty head hypothesis appears to be correct." Snape's sarcastic comment remained completely ignored, however, as Dumbledore and Hermione launched into a new calculation with vigour.  
  
Snape continued unabashed.  
  
"The boy may have had somewhat unfortunate parentage, but you can't use that against him forever. The prejudice he receives -"  
  
" I've rarely seen a clearer indication! Draco Malfoy! Neville Longbottom is being held at Malfoy Manor." Dumbledore looked up from his hurried scribblings, catching Snape's eye. "I am most sorry, Severus." He allowed a respectable silence to elapse, before reaching into his desk drawer and pulling out a small velvet pouch. "I think it would be prudent to wear the Hogwart's ring."  
  
* * *  
  
Snape strode moodily in front of Hermione, splashing across the muddy field with a vengeance.  
  
"Severus, this isn't the sodding Chinese Long March you know."  
  
"Really? I rather hoped if I walked fast enough, then you, the weak hindrance, might be left behind to be hit by a stray Kuomintang sniper."  
  
Hermione started in surprise; it was so unusual to come across a Wizard familiar with muggle history, and this from the Head of Slytherin! He seemed to have a knack for unexpected tastes and revelations, which she would have considered fascinating had it come from anyone else.  
  
"How do you know all these things?" It had slipped out before she had a chance to censor her thoughts, but it was a genuine question none-the-less. His range of references and eclectic library really were quite extraordinary.  
  
The tone of admiration in her voice must have been lost on Snape, however, for he remained pensively silent, before suddenly speeding up his pace.  
  
"It's called self-education Miss Granger, might I suggest you familiarise yourself with the concept some time?" he sneered, as Hermione shot a look of deepest loathing at his turned back.  
  
They were nearing the edge of the Forbidden Forest. Hermione looked longingly at Hagrid's hut, but it was no longer a comforting beacon of light in the Gamekeepers absence. By the time she had turned round, Snape had disappeared under the low hanging branches of the nearest trees. Hermione shivered and ran to catch up, fearful at the thought of being left alone in such an uncertain place.  
  
She entered the forest, treading carefully, too afraid to really notice that it was still dry underneath the thick leafy canopy.  
  
"Severus?" she couldn't see much in the sudden gloom and began to feel a rising panic that she had lost her guide.  
  
"Severus I -," Hermione ran smack into the back of Snape in her haste, sending him sprawling onto a bed of dried leaves. She landed awkwardly on top of him, knocking the breathe out of her lungs, as the momentum of the collision carried her over his body. She grabbed a fistful of his robes frantically, causing him to roll over with her through the dried leaves. As their limbs became entangled she felt his arms twine almost protectively around her until they came to rest at the hollow of a tree, breathless and shaken up.  
  
"Are you alright?" Snape peered down at her, eyes scanning her face quickly.  
  
"I think -," she could feel his breath tickling her face, his every inhalation crushing her further into the soft ground beneath her back. She was suddenly aware that his arms were still wrapped around her. Hermione shifted slightly and felt him tighten his grip around the back of her waist, his hand large and masculine against her contrasting slimness. She could feel his body heat searing through the flimsy thinness of her robes and was unable to stop herself from trembling slightly at the sensation. His face was now resting so close to her own, she could finally look into those cold, dark eyes For a moment she caught his eye and felt as though she was being burnt by their impenetrable depths, until he snatched his gaze away quickly. He shifted onto his elbows, causing her to jerk forward reflexively as his pelvis ground into her own.  
  
"Next time look where you're going Miss Granger," Snape sneered as he leapt up and stalked off without stopping to help Hermione up.  
  
"You are such a Slytherin!" she yelled at his retreating back.  
  
* * *  
  
The gargoyle swooped over the castle, circling once to get his bearings before landing expertly on top of Hogwart's Astrology Tower. He flapped his wings a few times, trying to dislodge the small bits of debris he had picked up along the way.  
  
He sniffed the air once, twice, turning his head nearly one hundred and eighty degrees each time. It wasn't hard for him to get a feel for the place; he had after all temporarily lodged here sometime in the sixteenth century. He seemed to recall it had been around the time he had been driven out from his nice Cathedral. He wondered if Ivan the Ugly was still perched up above the main quad. But then this visit was strictly business.  
  
Master had said she was on the North side, lodged in the dungeons set in the cliffside. He flapped his wings experimentally then took off again, indiscernible even to the keenest eye from the rain-sodden grounds below. Hugging the building closely to avoid being blown off course, he weaved in and out of flagpoles and turrets, before descending vertically down the North wall toward the choppy lake below.  
  
Third window across. yes this was it. He flew right up to the glass and leered into Hermione's sitting room. Finding it empty, he tapped the bottom pane of glass experimentally, surprised to find that it had been left off the latch. Hovering steadily, he reached forward and pushed himself through the opened window, tearing up from a nosedive toward the flagstone floor at the last minute.  
  
He sniffed the air again once, twice, and then flew through Hermione's chambers as a precautionary measure. But there was no doubt in his mind, scents never lied. She was gone. But she had been here.  
  
As the gargoyle dodged back through the turrets of the castle, he had no idea his movements were being scrutinised. Blue eyes framed beneath furrowed white brows regarded his progress grimly. They were coming. Severus would need to be informed.  
  
* * *  
  
Snape suddenly stopped in a small clearing ahead, although Hermione was careful this time to make sure that she gave him plenty of space.  
  
"We are here," he announced curtly.  
  
Hermione gratefully sat down to rest on a severed tree trunk. They had not journeyed very far into the Forbidden Forest, but it had been a brisk and awkward walk. She watched curiously as Snape took a small, but lethal looking knife out from the inside pocket of his robes and began sharpening it on a nearby tree.  
  
"Is that necessary?" she heard herself squeak, vehemently wishing that Apparating and Floo travel weren't so detectable.  
  
"Most unfortunately we do not have the time to hang around waiting for a stray Thestral to happen upon us, we must make them find us. A little blood- letting seems perfectly in order."  
  
Hermione swallowed hard. This was the Head of Slytherin House, she doubted very much that his limited code of chivalry stretched as far as 'thou shallt not cut women.' However, she watched with dawning comprehension as he proceeded to roll his right sleeve up. Instinctively she stepped toward him, unsure why she felt she should be near to him as he did this. As Snape plunged his arm into a beam of moonlight Hermione was shocked to discover an arm riddled with long raised scars that shone a beautiful silver in the strange light.  
  
Snape looked up to find her staring wide-eyed at his arm and seemed to issue an unspoken challenge in his stare. For some reason, Hermione knew it was very important to him not to ask, and remained silent.  
  
"Are you okay doing this?" She felt she should at least acknowledge his uncustomary selflessness.  
  
"Why, are you offering?" Snape replied acidly. But evidently it was a rhetorical question, for he had already lowered his knife. Hermione knew she should turn away, it felt awfully as though she were trespassing on some very sacred, private act. But there was something morbidly compulsive about the situation and, when Snape's eyes looked up before he began, she thought she could almost detect a pleading in them for her to stay where she was.  
  
So she watched from the sidelines as Snape lowered the knife onto his skin, exhaled slowly, then suddenly dragged the blade point across the length of his arm. For a second it looked as though he hadn't broken the skin's surface at all, until suddenly a thousand redcoat soldiers rushed out from underneath his score. He lifted the knife again in his clenched fist and pulled it swiftly across the same route, deepening the wound, but his arm and expression remained steady.  
  
He threw his head back and exhaled very slowly, as though savouring the moment, then lowered the knife again, tearing the blade frenziedly across his arm again and again, his aim become more erratic as he repeatedly scratched along his arm. His blood was now starting to pool in little wells of deepness, and a silent crimson tear began to slowly descend down the edge of his arm, splashing unheard onto the forest floor.  
  
Hermione pulled her gaze away and looked into his enthralled face, shocked to see two red dots of colour animating his drawn face.  
  
"Severus," she moved forward and wrapped her hand tentatively around his other arm. "I think that's enough."  
  
He looked up dazed, as though confused that Hermione was even there.  
  
"Yes. quite right." His voice took a while to return to its usual tone. Hermione stepped closer to him again and began to rub her hand briskly up and down his left forearm, as though trying to return his circulation to normal. He still held the knife clutched in his hand.  
  
When he moved again she stepped tactfully away, withdrawing her comforting touch. Wordlessly Snape set about cleaning the knife with a wad of moss. Occupied in his task with his back to her, he finally broke the silence.  
  
"Can you see any yet?"  
  
"Erm, the thing is, I don't see Thestrals." Hermione felt inexplicably embarrassed.  
  
"Well lucky you," Snape replied somewhat testily, as he turned around to scan the clearing.  
  
"Have you. have you been able to see them for a long time?" she cursed her own insensitivity, biting down on her tongue too late. But the expected onslaught didn't come; Snape merely looked at her questioningly before answering slowly.  
  
"Since my first day at Hogwarts. My. a family member died when I was six." He continued to hold Hermione's gaze, but this time the burning feeling was absent.  
  
Suddenly he broke away.  
  
"Over there. By the Oak." He strode forward toward some invisible focal point, Hermione following closely behind.  
  
"I didn't factor in you not being able to see Thestrals."  
  
He sounded almost resentful, Hermione thought. Well, excuse me for being awkward, and not having lived a life of woe and tragedy.  
  
"You will have to ride with me. There is a long and gory history of unseeing people stupidly attempting to ride these beasts, and I suppose the Headmaster would be rather put out were I to return minus Hogwart's relief teacher."  
  
Hermione smiled to herself, wondering what Snape would say if he knew that she had once ridden a Thestral all the way to the Ministry of Magic. Still, she was relieved to hear that she was not to be treated to a repeat performance of that rather disconcerting experience.  
  
"Here," his cool fingers closed over hers and he placed her hands in the silky mane of a Thestral. It was very odd to discover that the transparent air around her suddenly had a texture.  
  
"I assume your horse riding skills are as advanced as your broom flying," Snape sneered as he laced his fingers together, the Hogwart's ring briefly catching the light as he lowered his hands to knee level. "Place your foot in here, I'll give you a leg-up." Hermione carefully raised her foot into the cup of Snape's hands and tightened her grip on the Thestral's mane.  
  
"Ready?"  
  
Hermione nodded before Snape pushed upwards propelling her onto the bony seat of the Thestral. As she slung her leg rather ungraciously over the other side Snape sniggered.  
  
"Well you try mounting something you can't see!" she replied indignantly.  
  
Snape vaulted onto the Thestral behind her, as usual his catlike movements making even such an awkward manoeuvre appear graceful. Damn it, such elegance really was wasted on that man, Hermione thought, reddening slightly at the memory of her clumsy collision earlier on.  
  
Behind her she felt Snape sidling forward carefully, until she could feel the pressure of his warm body against her back. Unexpectedly she felt his right arm extend and wrap fully around her waist, holding her firmly in place. A pleasant, hazy feeling of security settled over her.  
  
"Do - do you want me to use a healing charm on your arm?" She could see spots where blood had already begun to soak through his robes, wrinkling the stiff fabric and welding it to his skin.  
  
"Leave it." Snape answered brusquely. Like Dumbledore, he believed that some scars should be left to tell their story.  
  
"Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire." Snape shouted.  
  
The Thestral responded instantly, plunging upwards into the night air. Snape tightened his grip around Hermione, despite the painful throbbing his wound issued in protest.  
  
* * *  
  
Master was in a rage now. He was not happy at all. Gargoyle didn't care, as long as he received his payment, it was all the same to him. He had served many masters over the years, many skilled and powerful Wizards; he was hardly going to begin a career in fear with this one.  
  
"What do you mean she wasn't there? Where else would she be? The stupid girl has nowhere else to go. I saw to that. Then there was that foolish letter she left behind in her house."  
  
"Massster, but she was there. O yes, this nose smelt her. Smelt her scent in the air."  
  
"Then she cannot have gone far. Perhaps the old fool has regressed even more than we thought and taken her out of her hiding hole in the dungeons. Gather the rest of your kind and search the castle."  
  
"Yes Massster."  
  
"Oh and Glod, one more thing. I want this done as covertly as possible. No point involving any more people than we have to. Just cling to the walls and gutters and strike only when you see the girl. Got that? No swooping through halls or landing on ledges or frightening young children."  
  
"Yes Massster."  
  
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * 


	6. Malfoy Manor

Chapter 5: Malfoy Manor  
  
Draco was enjoying a fine red wine in his favourite easy chair; a tall leather affair that Snape himself might have approved of. He took another sip of the tangy, almost metallic tasting liquid and stared into the flames of the roaring fire. Outside he could hear a storm raging noisily, but he was quite content to sit by himself, the shadows of the leaping flames playing across his face, as he mulled over the day.  
  
It had been quite mundane, all things considered; no one had annoyed him, yet no one had greatly pleased him either. Well, apart from that rather attractive brunette, who had just started work in the accounts department. She had certainly been quite keen to please him in the cubicle of the Wizard's toilets during lunch break.  
  
He supposed he could be sociable and go to Zabini's dinner party, but quite frankly the thought of making forced conversation with all the usual dunderheads was too exhausting. There was that fit-looking brunette from reception, who had slipped him an owl earlier on in the week, but he found he couldn't even muster the enthusiasm to take her up on that rather. interesting offer. A part of him wished that he had not been so hasty in sending the staff home early, it would be comforting just knowing that someone else was bustling around in the house.  
  
Draco sighed, staring intensely at the stem of his wineglass, as though it held all the answers in the world. At times like this he almost wished his father were still around. Almost. He caught himself just in time, before his thoughts could follow this dangerous train of thought. Mother.of course he felt sorry about that business. But he really was Lord of the Manor now.  
  
So why didn't it feel like that? It was funny how, as an insignificant eleven-year old he had held more answers, and held more cards carried than he did now as the head of a centuries old dynasty. Truth be told, even Draco Malfoy had his limits, when the novelty of his privileged lifestyle began to wear around the edges.  
  
A knock at the door broke through Draco's reverie, and he raised his head in surprise. Generally he regarded the usual round of visitors as little more than tiresome nuisances, but unexpected visitors could occasionally provide a welcome relief, allowing for a few minutes of imagined possibilities. He rose to answer the door, silently promising a glass of 1973 Rioja from his Spanish vineyard, to whoever lay behind it.  
  
* * *  
  
As the countryside zoomed dizzyingly past below the Thestral's beating wings, Hermione was immensely glad of Snape's strong arm holding her into her seat. She had lost her hand hold somewhere above a sprawling city, and had been unable to grip on properly since - not least because her hands were frozen into unresponsive claws by the icy air.  
  
Snape could see that the tips of her ears were bitten red with cold, and her teeth were chattering violently. He tightened his hold on her further, and then released it slightly as he worried about whether he was squeezing her too hard.  
  
"Not much further," he said, but the wind had snatched his words away, before his reassurances could reach her. Snape leaned forward, chin almost resting on her shoulder, and shouted into her ear. He was so close his lips brushed against the side of her ear, tickling with a pleasant nuzzle. He couldn't help but inhale the rich scent of her hair, as he felt her loose curls against his cold cheek.  
  
But then the Thestral suddenly lurched downwards, accelerating as the village, streets, and then houses came into focus. Just as Hermione thought they were about to hit the ground, the Thestral pulled up sharply and landed lightly, without so much as a jolt forward.  
  
Snape released Hermione quickly, and jumped expertly down from the Thestral, leaving Hermione to clamber slowly down from her mount. Really, he made Filch look like a knight of the round table in terms of chivalry. She had little time to quibble however, for she suddenly noticed the tall wrought iron gates looming formidably in front of them.  
  
"Welcome to Malfoy Manor," Septimus said dryly, stepping out from behind a bush with broomstick on hand. "Told you broomstick was faster than Thestral."  
  
* * *  
  
If Draco was surprised to find his old Head of House standing shivering on his doorstep, he concealed his wonderment remarkably well.  
  
Hermione, placed under a concealment charm minutes before by Snape, noticed how much he had changed since their days at Hogwarts. At school he had reminded her of a two-dimensional cartoon character - all eyes and exaggerated scowls. But he seemed to have tamed that particular trait remarkably well, and she realised with a pang that he reminded her very much of Severus in that respect.  
  
"Good evening Draco. I was in the area. Thought I'd visit." Snape spoke so self-assuredly, as though this was the most natural thing in the world that Hermione felt as though even Neville would have invited him in.  
  
Evidently this was not completely out of character, for Draco opened the door wider.  
  
"Come in Severus. I was just about to open a nice bottle of vintage Rioja." This certainly was an interesting development to his monotonous evening.  
  
"Where are my manners? Draco, meet my nephew Septimus, who teaches at Durmstrang. Septimus, this is Draco Malfoy who was my favourite pupil."  
  
The two men shook hands, the distraction allowing Hermione to slip past unnoticed, into the inner sanctum of Malfoy Manor.  
  
* * *  
  
Terry walked up the steps in the sterile laboratory toward the door, carefully pulling it open as he balanced the steaming vial in his right hand. He strode purposefully into the corridor, knocking lightly on the opposite door.  
  
"Yes?" a harsh voice barked out.  
  
Terry pushed the door open, a little hesitant now.  
  
The severe man looked up from the pile of documents stacked on his desk. He took off his horn-rimmed spectacles resignedly, in preparation for this latest delay, this latest excuse. However, Terry's response snapped him out of his weariness.  
  
"It's ready. All we need now is Hermione."  
  
"The Gargoyles are working on it."  
  
"Perhaps, in the meantime it would be prudent to concoct a Location Potion?" Terry suggested tentatively.  
  
"Oh?"  
  
"Well, I mean, they haven't been successful thus far. It'll take several hours to brew but I - I have some of Hermione's hair, not that I usually - but, I wanted to." he trailed off, before continuing brusquely, "We would be able to pinpoint her location for certain."  
  
* * *  
  
Draco led Snape and Septimus into his study, leaving Hermione alone in the large reception area. She had to admit, Malfoy Manor was not how she had imagined it. She had expected a lurid opulence of gold and marble, or heavy gothic monstrousness. In reality, there was a pleasant Georgian décor that managed to feel both grand and homely at the same time. It was richly decorated with the Malfoy Art collection, which showcased every movement from pre-Raphaelite to Impressionism. There was an almost tangible sense of the past that pervaded throughout, so that it was easy to imagine someone living within the halls.  
  
All those rumours about dripping torture chambers that had circulated throughout her time at Hogwarts seemed very misplaced. Hermione smiled with amusement as she suddenly realised that despite the gossip and boasting, there was no way that Pansy Parkinson had ever set foot in Malfoy Manor.  
  
As she looked around in awe and appreciation, she wondered where to begin. For once she had to rely on Muggle methods of trial and error. Looking around at the sweeping open staircase, she decided to begin on the first floor, dismissing the possibility of a holding room on the ground floor - far too vulnerable.  
  
Ascending the stairs she trailed a hand wistfully along the polished banister, wondering what it must have been like to grow up in this sort of environment. Surrounded by centuries of magnificent family history, it was not hard to see how Draco had taken the propaganda to heart. She couldn't imagine how she would react to being removed from this nest of luxury, and sent to an egalitarian school like Hogwarts at the age of eleven. It must have been an unbelievable culture shock, alienating even.  
  
She reached the first floor landing, and was disconcerted to find that the lighting stopped abruptly, leaving a long fuzzy stretch of blackness. Hermione hesitated. She couldn't risk lighting the corridor, but there was no possibility of making out the doorways in the pitch black.  
  
"Lumos!" Compromising, she used the weak light from her wand tip to expose a small semi-circle of light in front of her. Deciding that the beginning was the best place to start, she pushed open the nearest door and peered inside.  
  
Dozens of doors later, and Hermione had worked her way up to the second floor. As she neared the end of the corridor, the thought crossed her mind that Neville could very feasibly be held in a concealed room. She groaned, then glanced at her watch, unsure how long she could rely on Snape to keep the conversation with Draco flowing. Thank goodness he had taken Septimus with him, she thought to herself.  
  
She smiled as she remembered Snape's face when Septimus had suggested travelling by broomstick, glad that he had been the one to voice objections, before she had needed to. Although on second thoughts, perhaps it would have been a less traumatic form of transport, considering how things had turned out. She was remembering the way Snape had cut into his own flesh, and mentally shuddered. She knew that he exercised total mastery over his emotions, but she did not know that it extended to the point where he was able to place physical pain behind the same impenetrable barrier. In some ways, she had been right when she had angrily slung the comparison with Voldemort at Snape - in many ways he wasn't human either. Did the mask ever slip, for anyone, she wondered?  
  
Hermione had now reached the last door on the second floor corridor, upon which she had come to stack her hopes. She placed her hand on the cool brass knob and twisted, but the doorknob remained resistant.  
  
"Alohomora!" The door swung open, bathing Hermione in an orange glow from the crackling fire beyond.  
  
* * *  
  
Draco was enjoying Snape's and Septimus's company. He had always been impressed by Snape's intellectual vigour. His nephew had been the surprise, not at all like the older man, despite the strong physical resemblance. It had initially been rather disorienting, hearing such affability emerging from the lips of a Snape, when Draco had been so used to hearing bored sarcasm.  
  
As he opened another bottle of red wine for his thirsty guests, he supposed he had better go and check on his charge. He poured Snape and Severus a glass, and rose from his chair to hand them their drinks.  
  
"Excuse me gentlemen, call of nature."  
  
Well, he could hardly say the truth could he? He could only imagine their shocked responses. He smiled slyly to himself as he left his visitors alone in the study, shutting the door carefully behind himself.  
  
"Septimus, look at this," Snape hissed urgently, crossing the room to Septimus as soon as Draco had disappeared.  
  
"Give me a clue, what am I supposed to be looking for here?" Septimus lazily took a sip from his glass, swilling the red wine around his mouth a couple of times in appreciation.  
  
"The ring Septimus, the ring!" he hissed.  
  
Septimus looked up at the hand thrust in his face.  
  
"The stone has turned red!"  
  
Septimus choked, hastily swallowing his last mouthful of wine. Amber could be ambiguous, but red meant only one thing; danger at Hogwarts, do not return!  
  
* * *  
  
Draco preferred to move in the dark. His eyes had been trained from a young age for night sight, and he found it more natural to rely on his own instincts, even with his father gone and the necessity removed.  
  
As he rounded the corner of the second floor corridor, he was surprised to find a rectangle of weak light splaying out from Neville's room. Worried at this irregularity, he sped up his pace, almost running down the corridor, until he ran suddenly into a solid wall.  
  
"Oof!" Hermione was knocked forwards over the threshold. Turning round beneath the splayed body, she came face to face with her worst-case scenario, as Draco's confused grey eyes squinted at some focal point to the left of her shoulder. She tried to take advantage of his confusion and pushed him backwards roughly. But Draco seemed to have gained his wits, for he pushed down harder, countering her force. He whipped out his wand and quickly cast a revealment charm.  
  
"Hermione?" Draco and Neville spoke with one voice, although one contained rather more warmth in it than the other.  
  
"What are you doing here Granger?" Draco had leapt off her as though she were on fire, and was standing in the doorway regarding her coolly.  
  
"I would have thought that obvious even to you. I," she realised this sounded rather stupid now, from her non-vantage point on the floor, but continued non-the-less "I've come to rescue you Neville."  
  
"How very touching," Draco drawled. "I see only one small detail awry, with such a noble sentiment - Neville doesn't need rescuing."  
  
* * *  
  
Snape and Septimus stopped their heated discussion as they heard the doorknob turn. They both turned to watch as Draco regally entered the room - followed by Neville and a bashful Hermione.  
  
"Gentlemen, I'm sure you can only imagine my surprise at finding Hermione Granger wandering around my private quarters."  
  
Snape and Septimus did their best attempts at expressions of shock, but the effects were lost on Draco, who was glaring at Hermione as though willing her to spontaneously combust.  
  
"Come, let's drop the pretence. Credit me with some intelligence. I caught her snooping around my house, because she was under the mistaken impression that I was holding Neville prisoner." Draco laughed slyly, but he was the only one who did amongst the confusion.  
  
"For the benefit of those of us who don't have a copy of your script, could you please take the time to explain what on earth he is doing in your house then?" Snape regarded Draco coolly, hand hovering over his concealed wand.  
  
"It's - it's my own fault really," Neville piped up, "I couldn't take it any more. The press, the fans, the singing. I had to get away. You don't understand what it's like. To be a prisoner of your own skin, a slave to the public. I - I know it was selfish. But I had to get away. I was scared I was going to end up like me mum and dad."  
  
"But why here, of all places? What's the pull of Malfoy Manor?" Snape, completely disregarding Neville, directed the question to Draco.  
  
"Well, ah, you see, I'm in charge of Neville Longbottom's management."  
  
Snape let out a strangled snort of laughter. If any part of Draco's pale body was actually capable of blushing, Hermione was pretty sure that it was glowing red-hot by now.  
  
"Adroc Management. It's a very prestigious company!" Draco choked in his defence.  
  
* * *  
  
Dumbledore paced his rooms in agitation. There were more of them arriving by the minute. Why, he had looked out to find one dangling from his own window ledge. Gargoyles, everywhere. Horrible things. This was one area at least where he agreed heartily with Argus Filch.  
  
But at least their continuing presence signified that their master still believed Hermione was at Hogwarts. As a result, Dumbledore had decided that the best course of action was one of non-action, reasoning that his students were safe, as a Gargoyle had never been known to carry out any action without promised profit. They had been sent to snatch Hermione, and that was all that they would do - given half the chance.  
  
He only hoped that Severus had received his urgent warning.  
  
* * *  
  
"Neville, have you any idea the worry you've caused?" Hermione tried unsuccessfully to berate and hug him simultaneously.  
  
"I've only been gone for two days, Hermione."  
  
"It's not only that, it's - oh but I'm glad you're safe!" And she squeezed him affectionately, her face pressed against his chest, missing his bemused smile.  
  
"I hate to break up the touching reunion, but I believe we were sent here on a more important errand than rearranging our complicated love lives." Snape sneered sourly.  
  
"Yes Severus, do tell why it was so imperative for you to find Neville. I'm beginning to wonder at your motives," Draco smirked. Alarmingly, he seemed to be finding the whole charade rather amusing. Hermione noticed for the first time that he seemed to show a less malicious, yet much more sarcastic side of his nature, in Snape's presence.  
  
"I suppose it will be over soon enough anyway," Snape sighed, and launched into an in-depth explanation of the Phoenix Potion and the burglary at the Ministry of Magic. When he had finished Draco looked extremely put out.  
  
"So you all thought it was me? Was he in Slytherin? Check. Is his name Malfoy? Check. Obviously the prime suspect then. What would I need a stupid Immortal Fame potion for anyway? Any fool can see I've got all that already."  
  
And in the pleasant glow from the warm fire, as the strange company sat in comfort, having taken full advantage of the Malfoy wine cellar, no one felt able to dispute that.  
  
"I suppose you'll be wanting a chop at my barnet then?" Neville broke the introspective silence with typical Longbottom grace.  
  
* * *  
  
Satisfied that the Location Potion was brewing nicely in Draco's kitchen, Snape decided it was time to break up the gathering.  
  
"The potion will take several hours to thicken before we can add Neville's hair. I advocate using that time wisely." He turned to Draco, assuming that same commanding presence that Hermione had witnessed earlier on. "It appears unsafe for us to return to Hogwarts."  
  
Draco nodded, then spotted Hermione sitting on one of his kitchen stools reading his newspaper and sighed resignedly.  
  
"I'll direct you to some guest bedrooms."  
  
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * 


	7. Kitchen Sink Melodrama

Chapter 6: Kitchen Sink Melodrama  
  
Unwittingly mirroring Dumbledore's actions at that very minute, Snape got out of bed and began pacing his room in the dark.  
  
This was a bad idea. Still familiarising himself with the furniture layout, he immediately stubbed his toe on a sharp corner edge.  
  
"Merlin's beard!" he cursed loudly, performing a contorted dance of distraction, as he hopped around the room in pain.  
  
He always had trouble sleeping in new environments, even ones as luxurious as this. Especially ones as luxurious as this. Of course, this wasn't his first stay Chez Malfoy, but in the old days his host Lucius hadn't really had sleeping in mind for his guests. He grimaced. That was a whole era of his life that he wished he could just Obliviate from his memory. The Pensieve helped of course, when his thoughts got too much and began to consume him from within, but he couldn't permanently empty his entire Death Eater history. Like Dumbledore, he believed that some scars should be left to tell their own story. Although, he was forty-four-years old and still hadn't found anyone to listen to his.  
  
Septimus knew snatches of it, mostly garnered from second or third hand information furtively passed around at Snape family gatherings, and occasional references from Snape himself. Dumbledore knew most of it. But no one knew all of it. He wondered if even he himself still did after all this time. He scratched his right arm absentmindedly, then winced as his fingernails reopened the recently formed scab, feeling a warm trickle of blood seep out.  
  
Rationalising that he may as well utilise his insomnia, he pulled his robes back on and decided to check on the progress of the Location Potion.  
  
* * *  
  
Hermione woke with a start. Her heart was thumping madly against her ribcage, as her eyes scanned the room. She was still in that dangerous half- asleep mode, where her dream seemed like a possible reality in the darkened room. She rolled over in the large four poster bed, but found only cool and tangled bedsheets waiting for her on the other side, no reassuring arms to wrap soothingly around her.  
  
Glancing at her wristwatch she saw that it was still only three o'clock. Fearing the consequences of falling straight back to sleep after such a traumatic dream, she decided to get a drink of water, hoping to forget the vivid images of her nightmare en route. She tiptoed cautiously to the chamber door, trying to recall where the first floor bathroom was. She had been sure that Draco had resentfully pointed out a tiny room just a few doors down, so slunk out into the darkness in her thin slip.  
  
Wandering down the first floor corridor in virtual pitch-black, she couldn't quite seem to locate the elusive bathroom. Not wanting to inadvertently wander in on someone else sleeping, she decided to make her way to the kitchen, where she hoped there might still be a fire burning down in the grate.  
  
* * *  
  
Snape was standing over the simmering yellow potion, occasionally stirring it anticlockwise with his wand. This was unnecessary but he found that occupying his hands with such an inane task meant his mind was free to guiltlessly wander over more abstract paths. He knew it wasn't healthy to dwell so much on his Death Eater days, but too many memories had been resurrected by his short stay at Malfoy Manor for him to be able to repress them any longer. Images that he had tried for too long to forget, raced through his head unbidden as he struggled to retain his calm exterior. He wanted to scream, bang his head against the wall, denounce himself. He felt as though his head was going to crack in two with the force of it. He needed a distraction, some kind of physical reaction that would refocus his mind from the emotional maelstrom within. He took the small knife out from the inside of his robes and just stared at it for a long time.  
  
"Oh!"  
  
Snape looked up at the exclamation, unsure whether Hermione had seen him eyeing the knife, which he hastily tucked away again. She was standing framed in the kitchen doorway, evidently as surprised to see him, as he was to see her.  
  
"I was just coming down for a glass of water."  
  
She sounded awfully defensive, Snape thought to himself, as though he were liable to snap her head off for her very existence. He noticed that she was wearing a rather flimsy Muggle garment of peach silk that outlined the shape of her figure in the soft light. It was the first time that he had seen her with her hair down and was surprised to see that the soft waves reached almost to her waist. The effect was less one of sexual provocation than ethereal beauty as Snape was reminded of the cover illustration on one of his classical texts, depicting a Greek serving girl drawing water from a well. Still, it really was quite scandalous that she was just wandering around the halls in such a clinging nightdress. Such behaviour would have been most unwise in the days of Malfoy senior.  
  
"I - I had a bad dream." she admitted, wondering why she was laying herself open to Snape's ridicule.  
  
"Yes, this place can have that effect. Too many imprints of the past, too much negative energy."  
  
"Is that why you can't sleep either?" Hermione still stood uncertainly on the threshold; unsure whether her company would be welcome.  
  
"Perhaps. But I rather think my own memories have more to do with that." Snape said neutrally, subconsciously scratching the scabs on his right arm.  
  
Hermione stepped forward and walked across the room purposefully toward Snape. He could see the contours of her body straining against the thin fabric and breathed in quickly, unable to predict what she was about to do.  
  
"Hold your arm out,"  
  
He did so hesitantly.  
  
"Just what I thought; it's still bleeding." She reached out a cold hand and traced around the cuts very gently with the tip of her index finger, causing the skin on his arm to goosepimple as he shivered slightly. "You don't need to play the hero - I know it must be painful for you."  
  
Snape couldn't decide whether she was talking about his arm, his emotional state of mind, both, or something completely different. He decided silence was the best response, which Hermione took as a sign of condonement.  
  
"You're such an enigma Severus." she sighed. "You're so."  
  
"Sarcastic? Moody?" He raised an eyebrow.  
  
"I was going to say mysterious, but you can have it your way if you want." Hermione looked up into his face and smiled mischievously. She continued tracing her index finger around his wound, before applying a slight pressure with her wand. "Ligatius!"  
  
"I told you before to leave it!" Snape snarled, pulling his arm away suddenly.  
  
"You may be content to wallow in pain, but I for one can't just sit and watch someone suffer unnecessarily without feeling!" she replied with passion.  
  
"It's only pain that keeps me feeling." he whispered hoarsely, grabbing Hermione unexpectedly by the shoulders so she could feel his fingernails digging into the soft flesh, as though he were trying to demonstrate the point. His eyes were searching intensely into her own, causing her to shiver, as she was suddenly aware of her scanty nightwear.  
  
"What about pleasure?" She bit her lip as soon as the words slipped out, unsure of his reaction. He released his grip slightly, but his hands remained on her bare shoulders.  
  
"Pleasure? Pain is the only pleasure I know." Snape suddenly withdrew his touch and turned away, back toward the stove. Hermione reached out and grabbed his arm, spinning him back round again to face her. She had never seen this deep, introspective side to him before.  
  
"Severus? What happened to you?" her voice was soft, less a question than a statement of sympathy, "Who hurt you so badly?" She reached a hand up tentatively and pressed her palm against his cheek, unsure whether he would reject her and return to Snape the Potions Master. Instead, he brushed her hand gently away, but not before an uncertain pause.  
  
"Don't try to understand me Hermione. It's - that mind of yours has far more worthwhile projects to occupy it." He smiled grimly, his eyes remaining focused and cold, before brushing past her and leaving the room abruptly, black robes billowing out behind him.  
  
* * *  
  
"It's ready." Terry carried the yellow potion over to the seated man. "You erm, just have to drink the entire beaker. You'll feel a bit shaky on your feet at first, but then you should feel a warmth in your stomach and you'll just know, as a gut instinct, where Hermione is, or to be more accurate, which direction you'll need to take to reach her." He extended his hand across the desk toward the man.  
  
"Oh, don't think that I'm going to fetch her. I'll leave that up to you."  
  
"But, er... won't she think it's odd if I turn up? I've been kidnapped after all, she won't co-operate if she's suspicious. I - I don't think I should."  
  
"Ah, one step ahead of you as usual." He reached into the desk drawer and removed a glass vial full of a steaming emerald liquid. "I trust those apparently abundant brain cells of yours can guess what this is?"  
  
Irked, Terry took the offered vial and sniffed it once, pulling a face.  
  
"You're joking?"  
  
"Unlike my idiot brothers, I never joke about business." His eyes flashed dangerously before his face softened again and a blissful expression descended. "Yes, my Gargoyles had some most interesting information to convey to me about who was,,,,, and who was not present at Hogwarts."  
  
* * *  
  
Hermione had taken up Snape's vacated position and was stirring the potion. She didn't need an hour spent tossing and turning in tangled bedsheets to tell her that she would not be able to sleep if she returned to her room. She was still thinking about the slightly rough texture of Snape's warm face, as she stared into the swirling liquid. And his parting words - the closest he had ever come to acknowledging her. She was trying to piece together the rest of their conversation, when Snape's voice cut into her thoughts.  
  
"Hermione?"  
  
She spun her body round to face him, placing her hands behind her back as a barrier against the sharp edge of the kitchen worksurface, causing her chest to thrust out defiantly. She watched him stride stiffly but purposefully toward her, her stomach performing little backflips as she wondered why he had come back. She remained silent, waiting for him to speak. If she had learnt one thing about Snape during the period of their forced partnership, it was that he was not a man one could lead.  
  
"You asked who hurt me so badly?"  
  
Hermione tried to suppress her surprise; she had not expected Snape to be given to such backward introspection once he had deemed a subject closed.  
  
"Perhaps it was a rhetorical question, one that I shouldn't have asked, and you shouldn't have to answer." She licked her lips; she had to be careful here, this was very thin ice she was trying to skate across.  
  
"Perhaps I want to. Perhaps I've been waiting a long time for you to ask that question."  
  
Again, Hermione's response was a cautious silence. This was how Snape worked, what he responded to.  
  
"Disappointment hurt me, disappointment and the inability to articulate my feelings. I - I made that mistake too often, let things slip through my fingers for want of a few well chosen words of affection."  
  
"Is that - do you worry it will happen again?" She bit her lip, Snape was now standing directly in front of her, eyes pinning her against the hardness of the worksurface.  
  
"No. Because now I feel safe enough to do something about it."  
  
Snape reached forward and grabbed Hermione around the waist, pulling her forcefully toward him. Hermione gasped as she was suddenly thrust into his chest, disorientated by his sudden mood swing from vulnerable broken man back to fierce predator. She could feel his hands rippling the silky material of her slip as they tightened around her waist, burning into her like a guilty brand  
  
She looked up into his dark eyes uncertainly, unsure where she fitted into this version of Snape, the side of Snape that usually disregarded her. He returned her gaze hungrily, holding back whilst his eyes asked the question. Finally she answered, curling her arms around his neck, pulling his head down and pressing her lips against his own.  
  
His kiss was strong, passionate, and needy, pulling on all her female instincts. She pressed herself harder against him, overcome by the need to feel as much of her body in contact with his own as possible, as the fierce energy radiating from him intensified. Her fingers weaved into the hair on the back of his neck were the only thing holding her up as she swayed drunkenly against his lean body, her legs giving way as his hands moved up her body and into her hair.  
  
Then his hands were travelling back down her body again, following the contours of her shoulder blades, and the groove of her back as his fingers dug into her flesh. She arched her back reflexively, groaning into his lips with pleasure till he released them roughly, her teeth catching on his bottom lip in the sudden movement. But then his lips were on her neck; sharp teeth nipping the sensitive skin and she moaned again, tipping her head back so that her long thick hair fell over his exploring hands.  
  
Hermione would never have guessed that Snape held such passionate, animalistic responses. He seemed to have finally dropped his guard, his famous self-discipline temporarily abandoned whilst he let his human senses run.  
  
His kisses travelled lower as he followed the line of her collarbone down and across, yanking the straps of her slip off her shoulder with his teeth. Hermione shivered, aware of the powerful masculinity that she had unleashed. Instinctively she pushed her hips forward into his pelvis, grinding against his hardness.  
  
Because it was dark, because her eyes were closed, and because she was engulfed by her physical senses, Hermione did not notice the two large round eyes that watched the scene with uncomprehending shock before disappearing abruptly.  
  
"Hermione." He had pulled away but was breathing hard, hands placed restrainedly around her waist. "You must come with me."  
  
"Yes" she replied dreamily, eyes still half closed in her flushed face as he led her away by the hand.  
  
* * *  
  
"Morning." Snape said grudgingly as the boy he loathed walked into the room. He was just pouring the yellow potion into a beaker, so the last thing that he required was a dose of the Neville effect. To his surprise Neville didn't reply to the formulaic nicety, merely shooting him a scathing look that would have blistered paint. Sure, he and the boy were never going to shake hands and open a B&B in the West Country together, but he hadn't expected such outright hostility from Longbottom. Perhaps he felt his fame could act as a buffer against such formalities. "This is nearly ready; where's Hermione?  
  
"I would have thought you knew that better than anyone else." Neville scowled as he helped himself to some milk from the fridge.  
  
"I am not in the mood for such cryptic exchanges. Either you know where she has disappeared to or you do not. She is not in her room." He continued to measure out the potion, annoyed at the boy's deliberate obscurity.  
  
"What, she didn't fancy spending the entire night with you? Can't say I blame her, at least she's not quite as blind as I thought."  
  
"Of course not. Did she have any reason to?" he replied testily, temporarily stopping mid-task. What was the idiot boy blathering on about now?  
  
Neville looked thoroughly disgusted and spun around from his crouched position in front of the open fridge to face Snape properly.  
  
"Oh, so it's like that is it? Use 'em and lose 'em, why am I even surprised?"  
  
"Merlin's beard, I know you're more accustomed to asking rather than answering questions, but I thought even Longbottom was capable of simple dialogue. Perhaps your talents are more suited to monosyllabism - Do. You. Know. Where. Hermione. Is?"  
  
"Well I thought she was with you," he replied sulkily.  
  
"Evidently not." he bristled, aware that this inane conversation was costing them valuable time. His brow furrowed. "I thought she was with you."  
  
"Me? Why would she be with me?"  
  
"Well why on earth would she be with me come to that?"  
  
He received another Neville look.  
  
"Last night. I saw you. In the kitchen."  
  
Snape stiffened. Suddenly feeling uncomfortable.  
  
"What of it? She clumsily attempted to psycho-analyse me before I returned to my room, hardly grounds for companionship."  
  
"No, I mean I saw you. I - I saw you," he paused before spitting the words out "kissing. It seemed like pretty heated 'grounds for companionship' to me."  
  
"What are you talking about? We held a terse conversation during which there was - was no contact between us. Are you delusional as well as stupid now?" he snapped.  
  
"I saw you! It was hard not to, you slobbering all over her like a dog on heat."  
  
"Must I repeat everything twice for it to penetrate through your skull? Only, I'm not getting paid for such tedium now. I am, however, being relied on to deactivate an extremely potent weapon, and you're wasting my time. I can see I shall have to find her for myself." Snape went to sweep past Neville, but was caught around the arm by Neville's strong grasp.  
  
"Do you - do you really not know where Hermione is? Only. I tried to find her this morning, after what I saw last night, but I couldn't - I thought she was with you, it was the only place I didn't look."  
  
"Look, I don't know what you thought you saw, but I can assure you the last time I saw Hermione was last night when I left her to return to my room - alone. I have no idea what you are talking about. I've been searching for her too. I thought she must be with you." He leaned forward and peered into Neville's face, his eyes flicking across, trying to read his expression.  
  
"And the last time I saw her was last night. In this room, kissing you.?" His brow furrowed, it was no longer an accusation but a puzzled question. In contrast, a look of dawning comprehension crossed Snape's face.  
  
"No, kissing someone who looked like me. Someone who had taken on my appearance. Someone -"  
  
"- Who tricked her! Who's taken her away!" Neville finished excitingly, his forgotten fingers digging painfully into Snape's forearm. Snape didn't seem to notice, he was too busy staring at some unknown focal point, wondering how on earth Hermione could have been tricked into kissing him.  
  
* * *  
  
Hermione went to walk up the staircase, but was pulled back by Snape tugging her hand in the direction of the outer door.  
  
"This way."  
  
"But -"  
  
Snape turned and placed a long white finger over her lips and whispered a firm 'shhh.' She fell silent. His fingers turned to the magical locks on the Malfoy door, which he deftly deactivated before turning back to Hermione.  
  
"Are you ready?"  
  
She nodded, wondering where they were going, and why she was going.  
  
He pulled the door open, inviting in an icy cold swoosh of night air, before half-dragging her out of the door with him, which he hastily shut behind them.  
  
"Here, you must be freezing." And he magiced a warm, but pretty, periwinkle blue robe over her slip. She giggled in appreciation. Then his expression changed.  
  
"Hermione, I - I'm sorry." He bowed his head, unable to meet her eye.  
  
"Don't be sorry Severus I-"  
  
Snape shook off the gentle touch on his arm and took a distancing step backwards.  
  
"I didn't want to do this, but you have to understand it's for the greater good. Expelliarmus!"  
  
Her wand flew out of her hand as she slumped to the floor, hit unconscious by the force of his spell.  
  
* * *  
  
"How could you possibly have thought that was Snape - Hermione kissing Snape? You dunderhead!" He leaned back in the black executive chair chortling mirthlessly.  
  
"Yes thank you Draco, I'm sure we all find the idea of Miss Granger's apparent lapse in taste equally incredible," Snape replied icily. The truth was, he still couldn't work out how the impostor had managed to induce such a reaction. Perhaps some sort of lust potion? But why?  
  
"Well sorry for not automatically assuming someone in your kitchen was actually a Polyjuice spy," Neville replied defensively.  
  
"Looks like she wants to keep it in the family Sev." Septimus had turned around from his fascinated perusal of one of Draco's muggle newspapers, to flash Snape a mischievous grin. "Well, if she can't have the younger dashing nephew she may as well try her luck with the older, uglier uncle."  
  
Snape flashed Septimus a dangerous glint of his black eyes, although he seemed largely oblivious re-immersed in the gossip page of The Sun newspaper.  
  
"Yes thank you Septimus, that observation will no doubt prove invaluable to our current assessment of what is to be done about the situation."  
  
Septimus was too busy trying to figure out 'which famous A-list actor claims to be devoted to his wife and mother of his two children but is actually conducting a steamy affair with the co-star of his latest blockbuster?' to note the turn of conversation.  
  
Draco spun around in his executive chair a couple of times, before picking up a domed glass paperweight, weighing it carefully between his hands.  
  
"You know, it really shouldn't be too hard to rescue Miss Granger - should you so wish."  
  
Snape cocked his head quizzically, Neville scowled, and even Septimus risked a sideways glance.  
  
"Well think about it, what do we currently have sitting redundantly in a beaker in the kitchen? I'm sure we could find one of Hermione's hairs around here to add to the Location Potion. And it seems to me that whoever has taken Hermione has taken her to the potion."  
  
Neville began a frenzied search of his robes.  
  
"She hugged me last night, should have one here somewhere."  
  
But he was forced to concede defeat after five minutes of fruitless searching, and rose to fetch the potion from the kitchen by way of an apology for having clean robes. His unexplained and sudden movement out of the door forestalling the objections that would surely otherwise have followed.  
  
Draco sighed.  
  
"Perhaps I picked one up when I wrestled her to the ground as an intruder."  
  
However, his thorough search revealed only that he was inexcusably still wearing the same robes as yesterday. Neville shot him a disgusted look as he sidled back into the room and placed the beaker triumphantly on the office desk.  
  
Snape turned to Septimus, his raised eyebrow asking the question.  
  
"Don't look at me. No inappropriate touching going on yesterday - day too late for that my friend."  
  
To everyone's surprise, Snape then began searching his own robes.  
  
"Well I was forced into proximate physical contact when I had to share a Thestral with her," he snapped. "Apparently it had some benefits after all." He held up an impossibly long, wavy strand of brown hair and reached for the potion. As he dropped Hermione's hair into it, the yellow liquid released a brief, but violent, fizzing reaction before returning to its original dormant state.  
  
"I suppose I can make allowances for special circumstances and fly by broom for once," Snape sighed, preparing to down the potion.  
  
"O no you don't!" Septimus was on his feet now, advancing toward his uncle. "I'm coming with you."  
  
Snape appeared to consider this.  
  
"Well, your flying sucks, you need me."  
  
"Granted." He nodded, and then turned to address the others. "There is enough for one person. I shall take the potion and Septimus will transport us."  
  
"Me too!" Neville piped up, "Just the two of you isn't going to be much match against whoever masterminded kidnapping Hermione. And Terry."  
  
"Look Neville," Snape spoke through gritted teeth, "We haven't got time for pseudo-heroics."  
  
"Quite right. You need another Slytherin," Draco spoke quietly, his back to the others.  
  
"Yes?" Snape raised an eyebrow in surprise.  
  
Draco spun back round in the chair to face the other adventurers.  
  
"Well, he has a point. You need my skills too."  
  
"And you?" Neville was cautious, what was in this for Draco?  
  
"I need to drop into Sainsbury's Local on the way back. We've run out of milk. Neville." he smirked.  
  
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * 


	8. Scent of a Woman

Chapter 7: Scent of a Woman  
  
Hermione woke groggily, feeling as though her head was full of cotton wool. She opened her eyes experimentally and was relieved to find the room dark. Well, it was more a broom cupboard than a room - she could have crossed from one side to the other in three full strides, if she hadn't been lying in a crumpled dying swan pose on the floor. There was a small window set near the ceiling, but it had been painted over with an uneven blackwash that allowed only muted light through. And a door,  
  
Hermione jumped up, and then immediately fell back down again as her legs gave way under her, causing her to bang her knees painfully on the hard wooden floor. She scrambled up again clumsily, grabbing onto one of the many shelves that surrounded the room for support. Finally her knees stopped shaking, and she made her way stiffly toward the door. She yanked the door handle down, and when it remained shut reached into her robes for her wand - only to find that it was missing. Still missing. Snape had disarmed her.  
  
Why had he disarmed her? What was she doing in this broom cupboard? Where exactly was this broom cupboard? All at once the gravity of the situation hit her, causing her to reach a hand up to her aching head. What was going on? She had thought she had finally reached a breakthrough with Snape - What, by sticking your tongue down his throat? a little voice at the back of her min said. She had been a fool to trust Snape, even with Dumbledore's endorsement. Oh God, did Dumbledore know yet? Know that the man he had trusted, despite history and Snape's many nay-sayers, had bitten the hand that fed him, the mind that had chosen to trust him?  
  
As though linked by some psychic pull, Hermione heard Snape's voice on the other side of the door.  
  
"Alohomora!"  
  
The door was flung open, causing a startled Hermione to blink in the bright light, as she looked at the silhouetted figure of Severus Snape.  
  
"How could you!" She ran over to him, fists raised, wanting to pound all her anger and her hatred into him. But his hands were already wrapped crushingly tight around her wrists, and her frantic writhing was useless.  
  
"I had to," he replied, and Hermione saw that his eyes, usually so impenetrable, were reflecting the truth of this statement. "I had to," He whispered.  
  
"I suppose someone just happened to twist your arm the right way did they? You couldn't stand anymore of your miserable existence as an unloved, pathetic and bitter man! And to think, you ridiculed my work!" she shrieked, "I was right the first time. Fool that I was to think people could change. You're a Slytherin serpent through and through."  
  
"Hermione, I'm not - not what you might think I am."  
  
"Is this where I hear the righteous self-justification? Save your breath, I don't want to hear anything you've got to say. You were right; I don't want to waste my time trying to understand you. I didn't think." she trailed off suddenly, her vitriol evaporating as she noticed that something rather peculiar was happening to Snape - his hair was becoming flecked with grey. And - and unless this was some trick of the light he appeared to be shrinking. Broadening out slightly too, and -  
  
"Terry!" She didn't know whether to renew her attempt at physical attack, or hug her lost friend. "But you're. you're safe, you're well!"  
  
During the transformation, he had been forced to release his grip on her hands, as Snape's long white fingers had diminished into his own browner, shorter ones, allowing Hermione to fling her arms around his neck ecstatically. He was caught off guard by this uncharacteristic display of affection; their relationship had always been strictly platonic. He laughed pleasantly at her reaction.  
  
"And the Phoenix Potion? What's happened to it?"  
  
"I was hoping you'd ask that. I need your help." And for the second time she followed trustingly as he led her away.  
  
* * *  
  
Snape wondered grimly how odd their little convoy must look. He, perched precariously on the back of Septimus' whizzing broomstick; Draco, cutting through the air like a piercing arrow with an eager and intense look flushing his face, wind ruffling his sleek hair apart; and Neville huffing and puffing behind, trying to keep up.  
  
He felt another hard lurch in his stomach.  
  
"Left! Hard left!" he shouted to Septimus, wobbling slightly on the back of the broomstick as the force of the Location Potion tugged more insistently. He was beginning to feel that if he didn't reach Hermione soon, he would break in two. It wasn't only the physical reaction, there seemed to be an unpleasant side effect to the potion that made him desperately yearn to be with her again. At the moment the Head of Slytherin House's greatest ambition was merely to be by Hermione's side.  
  
* * *  
  
"Here!" Terry pointed to the vial of steaming green liquid. "It's safe. Only. I need your help to activate it."  
  
"Activate it Terry? I would have thought that was the last thing we wanted to do." Hermione frowned.  
  
"You unintentionally tainted the secondary root seed - I think because the hair belonged to Neville, so was not collected in an appropriately controlled environment. I need you to just prick the smallest drop of blood into the potion so that your input - the emotional barrier - is recognised and the defence mechanism in the potion removed."  
  
"But Terry, I - we've been trying to disable the Phoenix Potion ever since you were kidnapped. This is great news!" She reached out and squeezed his hand. But to her surprise, he wrenched her fingers off and pulled away.  
  
"It is not great news if your intention is to use the potion." Cold eyes regarded her steadily, waiting, judging the situation.  
  
"What do you mean? You're free from whoever tried to steal the Phoenix Potion now, we can destroy it."  
  
Terry shook his head slowly.  
  
"No. Not free."  
  
"But - but you escaped. You came and found me to tell me, because you knew I would try to rescue you, despite what Fudge might say. You brought me here so we could destroy the potion together."  
  
Terry felt a wrench at the hurt confusion clouding Hermione's eyes, and tried to communicate his own sorrow back to her.  
  
"Although, why did you need to come in Snape's form - did you have to disguise yourself in order to escape?"  
  
"Hermione, there's something I need to tell you."  
  
"I'll say there is," drawled an amused sounding voice from behind them.  
  
Hermione whipped around and watched as a tall man emerged from the shadows of a whitewashed pillar in the laboratory, a shock of ginger hair eclipsing his sly smirk.  
  
* * *  
  
"Down! Down! She's down there!" The pull of Hermione was so strong that Snape had to force himself to grip tighter onto the broomstick to stop himself from jumping off to reach her. Didn't this thing go any faster?  
  
* * *  
  
"Percy Weasley? What are you doing here? Are we in the Ministry of Magic then - only the corridor didn't seem very familiar at all?"  
  
Percy laughed harshly at Hermione's evident confusion.  
  
"Well, well. I've succeeded in out-foxing even Hermione Granger. That brain of yours still can't figure out what's going on?"  
  
Hermione shook her head, her confusion mounting.  
  
"Terry here was just about to tell you how he's been lying to you for the last year," he laughed cruelly again, and Hermione wondered why he appeared to find this so amusing. She span round to face Terry again, sure that he would deny this ridiculous claim.  
  
"Hermione I -"  
  
"- You see, Terry is not as he seems. Brilliant Terry Boot, slaving away in some forgotten laboratory hidden in the depths of the Ministry of Magic; disregarded, ignored, no he doesn't deserve that. Any more than do I." He turned away, and began pacing the room, whilst still addressing his monologue to Hermione. She wondered why neither of them was stopping him, but some part of her wanted to hear whatever it was that this clearly delusional Percy had to say.  
  
"Have you any idea how frustrating it is, trying to make my way in the Ministry of Magic with the surname Weasley? It was bad enough when I only had my father's foolishness to contend with, but then those idiot twin brothers of mine opened that wretched Joke Shop, and our family name was dragged even lower into the realms of ridicule. Even Ronald, whom I had held some small hope for - if only because I didn't credit him with the strength of character to do anything truly stupid by himself - has been a disappointment. Of course I was delighted when he first got a job in the Ministry of Magic, even if it was in the pitiful Quidditch department. That was okay, he just wanted a foot in the door, everyone has to start somewhere. But no, seven years later and he is still wallowing in that embarrassing backwater, while I alone try to salvage what little is left of the Weasley name."  
  
He narrowed his eyes menacingly, pausing slightly before continuing.  
  
"Did you know that we are one of the oldest Wizarding names in Britain? Most people certainly don't. Our name should be up there with the likes of the Zabinis, the Malfoys, and the MacMillans of this world, yet instead I am forced to hear it twinned with Potters and Finnigans. How can I expect to rise up to reach my true potential when I have such unfortunate relations tainting my name and my character? I have waited too long, too many years for that recognition."  
  
Percy stopped his pacing and turned to Hermione, eyes dangerously ablaze.  
  
"I should be Minister of Magic. I deserve it. And if people are not able to realise it merely because of my name, then I shall make them realise it!" he screamed, his cheeks infused with vivid patches of colour.  
  
Hermione turned to Terry, scared.  
  
"Terry, he's not well. Let's get him to a doctor. We can destroy the potion later," she suggested.  
  
"No, Hermione."  
  
She started at Terry's quiet, but unmistakably determined command.  
  
"I - I agree with him. If he just takes the potion once, then people will realise how wrong they were. And how important my work is too. Don't you see that? Aren't you tired of filling funding application after funding application out, only to be met with the same blunt refusals, the same blank faces of incomprehension? Imagine a world where our brains are recognised, praised even, rather than merely furthering our ostracisism. Percy can do that, Percy can make sure we never have to struggle either financially or intellectually again. Think about it Hermione!"  
  
"What are you saying? That - that terrorism is okay, provided you get some personal benefit out of it?" Hermione was struggling to keep her voice even.  
  
"Not personal benefit, benefit for everyone. With Percy as Minister of Magic things will change, great things will happen! I - I want you to join us." His desperate, piercing stare betrayed the quiet calm of his voice.  
  
"Join you? We didn't vanquish Voldemort merely to invite another dictator to take his place." she spat.  
  
"I'm not a dictator!" Percy shrieked, the same red blotches rising angrily on his face, "I'm merely taking what's rightfully mine, what I've earned. In years to come people will remember getting rid of Fudge as the best thing they ever did. I will bring the Magic community into a new era."  
  
"Hermione, with you by my side, with each other, we can't fail." Terry's eyes shone with real conviction, and his voice wavered with a hopeful enthusiasm that Hermione would never have associated with the Terry Boot she knew.  
  
"By your side? I'm not by anyone's side. The only thing you've made me realise is that I must rely on myself to stand alone," she stopped, as his words triggered a recent memory, "The kiss. when you took on the shape of Snape, why the kiss?"  
  
Terry coloured.  
  
"Hermione, you don't know what you mean to me. I - I don't just propose a working partnership, but for us to be together in every possible sense. When I heard you and Snape talking, I knew he had tricked you, tricked you into false feelings for him -"  
  
"- I don't have feelings for - for Snape!" she paused. "For chrissakes Terry, is that what this is, is this supposed to impress me? Why didn't you just do the normal thing and ask whether I wanted to go for dinner sometime? You didn't need to plot a political coup!"  
  
"How very touching Terry. But let's deal with such irrelevant details later," Percy scowled. "Hermione, you're either with us or against us. If you're against us. God help you, but if you're with us now is the time to declare your allegiance."  
  
* * *  
  
The broomstick was plummeting downward terrifyingly fast. Sure that no one was watching, Snape shut his eyes tightly. Despite Septimus' assurance, this unpleasant episode had only reconfirmed his intense hatred of flying.  
  
He felt the broom suddenly swing upwards, reaching a level plane before decelerating quickly to a stop.  
  
"We've landed. You can open your eyes now Severus."  
  
Snape scowled at Septimus' mocking voice, and gratefully disembarked from the broomstick, relieved to find solid ground beneath his shaky feet. He looked up in time to watch Draco land accurately beside him, and then Neville crash into a thorny looking bush about thirty feet away.  
  
"Will someone please fish Longbottom out?" Snape sighed disinterestedly, before walking off briskly in the direction of a cluster of farm buildings, set in the middle of the deserted countryside. He could no longer feel the nagging pull, and was starting to worry whether the Location Potion had prematurely worn off, until suddenly -  
  
"She's over there, right inside I think." he gasped as he felt a fresh wave of longing rip through his body. He knew it was only a chemical reaction, a mixture of endorphins and serotonin, but at the same time he couldn't stop the mental imagery that flashed through his head, as he remembered Hermione reaching out to him in the kitchen. He wondered how she would feel were he to return her touch. He bet she would feel soft and warm, light as a feather, creamy skin waiting to be -  
  
"Well come on then!" Septimus had grabbed Severus by the sleeve and was urging him forwards. "We didn't come for a sight seeing tour of an English cowfield. Whoa, mind your step there, I just trod in something rather unpleasant."  
  
"Bloody idiot. Trust you to find the one prickly landing within a five-mile radius of grassy knolls. I'll be picking these thorns out for the next week." Draco scowled as he and Neville breathlessly caught up with the others. "I tell you, twenty-five percent is not enough."  
  
"Aw, man, I just stood in a huge pile of cow mess." Neville whined, energetically wiping the offending foot on a patch of wild grass.  
  
Snape was becoming unaccountably annoyed by the idle chitchat. Didn't they realise how he was feeling, how he had to find Hermione, how it was the most important thing in the world? He shook his head hard, trying to find his own thoughts amid this muddled mess. No, he needed to find the potion, the Granger girl was immaterial. Immaterial. Material. Lack of. He was remembering how seductive she had looked last night.  
  
Lost in thought, he barely noticed that they had reached the farm buildings. Clambering over a wooden gate, he began walking down a cobbled path that led under the arch of a redbrick building, and into a large courtyard. On the left was a wobbling tin structure that had evidently once served as a hay barn; directly in front what appeared to be a cow shed containing row after row of open and empty stalls; and to the right a low but long, rectangular farmhouse.  
  
The tugging was there again. Wordlessly he walked toward the farmhouse door, annoyed to find it locked.  
  
"Alohomora!" Draco shouted the spell out before Snape even had time to reach for his wand. He was too preoccupied however to acknowledge the help, and pushed past Draco rudely. As he entered the traditional farmhouse kitchen, his heart beat sped up to an excited pit-pat pit-pat as he felt Hermione's nearness run through his body like an electric jolt.  
  
"She's here. She's underneath our feet. I can feel it."  
  
* * *  
  
"I tried not to include you in this, Hermione, I really did. I even went against Percy's. advice. Do you think that train failure the day I went missing was just a coincidence? But I had to, in the end, you understand that don't you?" Terry was frantically trying to make Hermione listen, make her understand that it was not her fault that Percy was currently tying her up to a pillar.  
  
"And I'm supposed to be grateful for that am I?" she laughed scornfully, "You obviously don't know me nearly as well as you make out, if you thought for one minute that I would go along with this."  
  
Terry gave her a sad, doleful look before turning back to Percy.  
  
"Just - just try not to hurt her unnecessarily, okay?"  
  
* * * "Are you sure she's underneath?" Septimus alone felt confident enough to question Snape's increasingly obsessive conviction. They had been searching the ground floor of the farmhouse for some time now, and had still not found a way underneath the flagstoned floor. Snape's sense of frustration was mounting - he felt like a cat chasing the tantalising scent of a long vanished mouse.  
  
"I can feel it! It's pulling me down, we just need to search a bit harder." The savage tone of his voice was enough to convince the search party to continue.  
  
Perhaps they would have been more successful if Neville hadn't kept knocking things over, and Draco hadn't kept stopping to examine the Muggle artefacts. Having grown up in a historic Wizard manor this was all new to him, and he had found himself becoming as fascinated with how the other half lived, as Hermione had been in his home. He had never even been friends with someone whose abode did not include the suffix -hall, -mansion, -manor-, or -castle.  
  
"Right, well I think we've managed to establish that we're not going to just stumble across an open stairway. We need to start thinking about concealed entrances." Septimus mused. "Let's move some furniture!"  
  
Neville looked hopeful.  
  
"Er, perhaps not you Neville. We need you to erm. why don't you make us all a cup of tea?" Septimus suggested kindly.  
  
Neville's face fell, but he picked the kettle up off the stove heroically, as the rest of the party set about rearranging the kitchen, peeling back a heavy Welsh dresser from the wall.  
  
"Funny, this tap doesn't seem to be working," Neville sounded puzzled as he tried to fill the kettle. Unfortunately his comment was lost in the general scuffle caused by Draco and Septimus pushing the dresser back against the blank wall with disappointment. "Perhaps the plumbing's a bit out." His eyes lit up as he realised this could be an opportunity to redeem himself.  
  
Septimus had disappeared into the next room with Snape, while Draco was going through some knick-knacks he had discovered in the dresser drawer. Neville opened the cupboard beneath the kitchen sink, and crouched down to peer inside.  
  
"Gu-uuuuuuys, you are not going to believe this!" He yelled excitedly.  
  
"What now Neville?" Draco drawled lazily, not even looking up from his nosy through the cluttered drawer.  
  
"Septimus!" Neville got to his feet and shouted until Septimus ran into the room, Snape two steps behind. "I've found it! I've found it under the kitchen sink!"  
  
"I was under the impression that we were looking for a hidden entranceway, not a pair of Marigold rubber gloves," Snape answered dryly, turning to leave the room again. Septimus however had already crossed the room to Neville's side.  
  
"By God he's right!" Septimus exclaimed as he peered into the cavity and examined the top of a wooden ladder.  
  
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
  
~ thanks as always to beta Azazello ~ 


	9. The Slyffindor

Chapter 8: The Slyffindor  
  
"Hermione, Hermione. this could all have been avoided, if you'd just been a bit more selective about your choices. But then I guess that's the story of your life isn't it?" Percy sneered, squatting down to where Hermione lay slumped on the floor. Her mouth might be gagged, but the hatred flaring in her eyes left little doubt as to what she was trying to communicate.  
  
"No, you're a liability now. Terry, me, and you - how cosy. We alone will know the truth behind my meteoric rise. But you've betrayed our trust now, you see?"  
  
Hermione's eyes widened.  
  
"Oh don't worry, I may be many things, but murderer is not one of them. I think a simple memory charm should suffice. I'm sure Terry will find some use for you after that." He laughed harshly as Terry re-entered the room.  
  
"Ah, just in time to supervise the activation."  
  
"Have - have you done it yet?" Terry squeaked.  
  
"I thought that pleasure should be yours." As Percy stood smirking annoyingly to her left, Hermione wondered why Terry followed him so obediently. If he really cared about her, then why didn't he stop this maniac in his tracks? Perhaps that was why Percy had insisted on gagging her, because he was aware that blind fear exerted only a very tenuous hold.  
  
"Me? I couldn't!"  
  
"Oh, but you must. I seem to remember you describing me as an unimaginative bean counter in the past. I feel it only proper to let the real scientist oversee such a delicate operation."  
  
Percy stalked toward Terry, handing over something that was blocked from Hermione's view by his turned back. As he moved away again, Hermione caught a flash of silver light. Then Terry advanced forward, affording Hermione a glimpse of the metal object clenched uncomfortably in his right hand. The large dagger glinted maliciously, leaving no doubt to its purposes.  
  
Desperately, Hermione managed to catch Terry's eye, and concentrated forcing as much emotion as she could muster into a single, piercing stare. Terry faltered.  
  
"Is this really necessary?" He swallowed hard, breaking away from Hermione's large brown eyes only with immense effort.  
  
Percy stepped toward Terry and leaned threateningly into his face.  
  
"If I have to do it, then I do it to her face," he hissed.  
  
Terry virtually ran to Hermione, nearly colliding into the pillar she was tied to. He crouched down slowly, his knees clicking painfully. Hermione turned her head, and watched as he reached down and rolled her left sleeve up. How considerate she thought, snorting into the gag, he's chosen not to slice my pen-hand. She watched almost disinterestedly from the corner of her eye as Terry lowered the dagger toward her exposed flesh. The point was just digging into her arm, when the pressure stopped suddenly, before the blade had been able to pierce through the skin.  
  
"I-I can't do it." Terry backed away quickly, dropping the dagger to the floor with a heavy clatter.  
  
"Merlin's beard, Terry!" Percy bent down to retrieve the knife with obvious irritance, as Hermione's eyes widened with shock - she couldn't believe that Terry was going to let this maniac cut her up! It was very lucky for him that she was gagged right now.  
  
Percy seemed to hold no such qualms about exacting physical pain. He picked up the dagger and strode toward her, balancing the weapon casually in his hand. She shut her eyes as he bent down, feeling as though this would lessen the pain somehow, like putting earplugs in to shut out the sound of a dentists drill. The next thing she felt was the skin on her face tearing open, and a burning jolt whip across her face as she gasped into her gag. Then she felt something cold press onto her right cheek, and opened her eyes to find Percy bent over her, collecting drops of her blood in a glass test tube. The right side of her face was now throbbing painfully, and she could feel it was wet with blood.  
  
"I can't believe you just did that!" Terry screamed and bent down to Hermione, dabbing at the trickling blood on her face gently with his robe sleeve. Hermione couldn't believe Terry had let him do that, had put his own spineless feelings before her physical well-being.  
  
"Well, do you want to see whether the potion works or not?" Percy barked impatiently from somewhere to Hermione's left, out of her field of vision. Terry paused for a second, trying to catch Hermione's elusive eye, before rising quickly and striding over to Percy and out of Hermione's sight.  
  
* * *  
  
Snape pushed Septimus and Neville out of the way, to look for himself at the entrance under the kitchen sink. Sure enough, where the bottom of the cupboard should have been, there was a large rectangular hole over the lip of which the top of a wooden ladder protruded. That left him with a roofspace of about three feet to manoeuvre himself into, which was an uncomfortable fit for a man who stood over six foot tall. He gripped the top of the kitchen worksurface and swung his lower body into the hole. After a few seconds of blind searching he managed to find a toehold on a ladder rung, and ducked the rest of his body into the small cupboard, before beginning his descent down the sturdy ladder.  
  
The first few steps were taken in darkness, but he was relieved to find that, as he neared the bottom of the ladder, the rest of the way was lit from below.  
  
The ladder rattled with the weight of another person as he took his last step and jumped off gratefully. Wiping his hands reflexively on his robes he turned to examine his surroundings. They appeared to have landed in some sort of reception room, that was completely bare except for a plain wooden door on the opposite side.  
  
"Well, this ain't much of a grand entrance," Septimus sniffed as he stepped deftly off the last rung of the ladder, and joined Snape standing in the middle of the room.  
  
Draco cursed in the background as Neville trod on one his hands. Snape, however, was oblivious to this as he felt another violent pull rip through his guts.  
  
"This way," he gasped, placing a hand over his stomach, "Hurry!"  
  
Snape virtually ran to the door and tugged it open, relieved to find that it did not require magic. Every further minute spent away from Hermione seemed to be unravelling more of his mental state. He had no idea that a Location Potion could be so powerful; he just wanted it to end. He gave in to the wrenching pull readily, because he knew that the sooner he obeyed it the sooner it would go.  
  
He was running down a straight corridor now, unseeing as he flew past closed doors, only knowing that Hermione lay at the end of the corridor, through that door. He was unaware how far behind the others really were, unaware that he had raced out of their sight.  
  
Snape flung open the door to the laboratory, just in time to see Terry adding a few drops of crimson liquid to a vial of steaming green potion.  
  
Hermione. She was there. Tied to the pillar.  
  
* * *  
  
Hermione looked up in surprise as Snape burst into the room, rushing toward her like a man possessed. Her stomach turned as she watched him fly to her side, a tall, suddenly imposing man clad in black robes with an intense expression eked out across his hard face. But he had come. He had come for her.  
  
Snape crashed into her, knocking the wind out of her lungs.  
  
"Thank God," She heard him mutter as he stumbled away from the painful collision, "it's finally gone."  
  
Hermione felt the ropes coiled around her loosen, then fall to the floor as Snape cut expertly through the binds with his small knife, before reaching his deft fingers behind her head and carefully untying the knotted gag. She could feel his hands lightly in her hair, as he struggled with Percy's tight knot, until finally the choking piece of material was released, and fell onto her lap.  
  
"Professor Snape? What are you doing here?" Terry squealed.  
  
Hermione sprang to her feet, massaging her wrists in an attempt to return some colour and feeling into her deadened hands. She turned, and was finally able to see what Terry and Percy had been up to. They stood behind a large rectangular lab bench, Terry cowering behind Percy as he viewed Snape with trepidation, Percy clutching the vial of Phoenix Potion triumphantly.  
  
"I believe he is just in time to witness one of his former pupils greatest achievements, Terry." Percy drawled smugly, raising the vial to Hermione by way of acknowledgement.  
  
Snape seemed to have noticed the strangeness of the situation for the first time, as he looked in cold puzzlement from Percy's flushed face to Terry's pale imitation.  
  
"What is going on here?" That same cold voice whipping around the room like a curtain of ice, instantly commanded the attention of the three former Hogwarts pupils. Hermione half expected him to dock points from Gryffindor and Ravenclaw in the next breath.  
  
"Trial run of the Phoenix Potion. I'm sure a man of your learning knows what that means," Percy smirked, lowering the vial slightly as he regarded Snape appraisingly.  
  
"Yes, it means that you are about to waver your sanity and your life, for a few snatched moments of artificial glory."  
  
Percy laughed. Hermione wondered how such a mirthless person could possibly find so many unamusing things humorous.  
  
"Ah, I think not. One swig of this and my destiny will finally be realised. I hardly call that an unfair exchange."  
  
"Percy," his tone was level, reasonable, "Did you never wonder why I chose to mention the possibility of bottling fame, every time I addressed a new class of Hogwarts pupils? I did so because it was a conundrum that has puzzled the Wizarding world for hundreds of years, that has inspired much debate but little result. What makes you think that Terry Boot, an inconsequential man of twenty-five years, has managed to solve a riddle that has occupied and eluded so many great Wizarding minds?"  
  
"Well, as to that, there's only one way to find out isn't there?" Outwardly Percy's confidence appeared untouched by Snape's reasoning, and he raised the vial to his lips.  
  
"Of course, someone came very close in the sixteenth-century."  
  
Percy lowered the vial slightly.  
  
"But he had to keep taking the potion he had brewed to hold the effect, all the time steadily building up a resistance to its power. Such things poison the mind, drain the body of breath, but worst of all - worst of all, Percy - they eat away at the soul until nothing remains. Did you never wonder where the first Dementors came from? Percy, they were created, not made. That is your future."  
  
"Yes, but it's worth it! I choose the life of a mayfly over the life of a tortoise."  
  
"You choose death then."  
  
"So be it."  
  
* * *  
  
Septimus and Draco were searching the corridor, trying to find where Snape had disappeared to. Neville was lagging some way behind, finding it hard to keep up with the long energetic strides of the two immaculate men.  
  
"Why did he just run off like that?" Draco scowled, upset at being left out of the loop again. It wasn't as if Granger hadn't had her fair share of adventures - one could almost call it selfish.  
  
"It's the potion," Septimus answered, "He's more used to defending himself against the darker arts. I think he underestimates how strong some of the simpler forms of magic can be. Especially when there's something inside him that the Location Potion is able to work on, something he won't admit to, so is unable to control."  
  
"Oh?"  
  
"Think about what Neville saw last night. Why was she kissing Severus? She can't have known it was an intruder - unless that's some traditional Muggle welcome reserved especially for nocturnal intruders."  
  
"Hermione is not in love with Snape!" Neville shouted, red in the face as he trotted up behind Septimus.  
  
"Yes, I would like to credit her with more sense too. But Severus. methinks he doth protest too much, if you know what I mean." Septimus tapped the side of his nose knowingly at Neville.  
  
"Snape? Like Hermione? Man, if you'd sat through five years of Potions classes next to her you'd know exactly how ridiculous you sound. He never left her alone. He hated me because I was slow, but hated Hermione even more because she was clever. I mean, really hated her. Made fun of her teeth. Called her a know-it-all. Never mind love-hate, this was just plain hate-hate."  
  
"He's right," Draco interjected. "He really did have it in for her. Even when we were doing N.E.W.T.'s. I used to get awarded House points for winding her up." He laughed meanly, oblivious to Neville's glare.  
  
"Well, it's Mr. Darcy syndrome isn't it?"  
  
Neville and Draco looked blankly at Septimus. He sighed.  
  
"Let's just say that first impressions can often be very misleading. I think they're both starting to realise that now."  
  
Neville and Draco looked at each, a rare, but brief, glint of agreement flashing between them.  
  
"Nah!" they answered as one.  
  
* * *  
  
Percy was just turning his attentions back to the potion, when Snape whipped his wand out from the inside of his robes. However, Terry seemed to have been prepared for this eventuality, as he raised his own wand, concealed underneath the lab bench, and pointed it directly at Snape.  
  
"Expelliarmus!"  
  
Before Snape had time to react, his wand was sent whizzing through the air, landing in Terry's outstretched hand. The force of the spell threw Snape hard into the pillar.  
  
"I have quite a talent with that particular spell," Terry sneered, growing in confidence as he saw his old Potions Master slumped on the floor. "I must have had a good teacher." He laughed humourlessly, aping Percy's increasingly nauseous trait.  
  
Hermione bent down to Snape, grasping him firmly by the shoulders and peering into his face with obvious concern. She remembered another time when he had been hit by that spell, from her own wand, and had been knocked unconscious. It had taken nearly eleven years, but suddenly she felt a surge of guilt, remembering the tiny trickle of blood that had oozed out of his head that night. But he seemed to have been able to resist Terry's spell better than she had for his eyes flicked open as she touched the back of her hand to his cheek.  
  
"Leave him alone!" Terry shrieked. "Get away from him!"  
  
She backed away from Snape, as Terry's wand tip followed her progress.  
  
"The sooner you forget about this nonsense the better!" he snarled, looking forward to administering the Obliviate charm, and doing both of them a favour.  
  
"Terry," it was her turn to have a go. Snape had used Ravenclaw knowledge to try to talk down a Gryffindor, now Hermione would use Gryffindor sentiment to try to talk down a Ravenclaw. "It doesn't have to be like this. You really don't need to force me to do anything. Nothing that I wouldn't want to do anyway, that I haven't dreamed about," she paused delicately before continuing, "But I've had my fill of crowded trios, Terry, it's you that I want. Just the two of us, me and you." She advanced toward Terry, eyes fixed exclusively on his drawn face.  
  
Snape sighed inwardly. Oldest trick in the book. If his use of cool logic had not worked, then how on earth did she expect such transparent female manipulation to work?  
  
Percy had placed the potion back on the workbench, searching his robes with both hands for his own wand. He groaned at his own stupidity, as he realised that he had left it in the desk drawer of his office. There was something about the wavering expression on Terry's face that he didn't quite trust - he would have preferred to have had some back up.  
  
"What do we need Percy for? The two of us, we could do anything with that potion. We could make them see! Pick the potion up Terry."  
  
"Well I-I-"  
  
"It's your potion Terry, your work. Hold it, admire it!" she barked. Snape jumped, he had never seen this domineering side of Hermione before.  
  
Percy lunged forward to grab the vial, but was beaten by Terry, who held it tentatively in his hands, as though it were made of the finest bone china.  
  
"That's what we did, together. Imagine what else we can do, you and me."  
  
She took a few more steps forward toward Terry, separated now only by the width of the workbench.  
  
"You were right, nobody else will ever understand us. Not Ron, not Harry, not Fudge, certainly not Percy. We're two lost souls, Terry, isolated by our minds. We don't see the world how everyone else does. Where they see hope, we see stupidity, but where they despair we see the possibilities. And they've never understood us for that; they resent that part of us. We don't fit in, we make them feel uncomfortable. We're made to feel stupid for not being stupid, tormented and shunned because of our minds."  
  
Snape watched her slowly snake her way around the workbench, until she was standing beside Terry. Despite the situation, he could feel a part of himself become drawn out by what she was saying, a part of him desperately wanting to stand up and shout that he had always felt exactly the same, that she was not alone - that he was not alone either.  
  
"Don't listen to her Terry, she's just trying to trick you into handing over the potion," Percy snarled.  
  
"Trick? And what is it that you've done to Terry? Do you actually believe Percy, when he says that after he becomes Minister of Magic he will help you, help people like us? He will destroy us, destroy us like they have always done, because we can see through them. Percy isn't like us, and he will never forgive us for it. We will be the first ones he strikes down. You think he will let you live, carrying around the secret of his success like a ticking bomb?"  
  
"Together Terry, it's a partnership, your brains and my charisma. Together we will rule the Ministry of Magic." Percy tried to grab Terry's arm, but the young man stepped away, toward Hermione.  
  
"I can offer more than that Terry, and you know it." She reached a hand out and placed a warm palm against his sweating face, mirroring her earlier gesture to Snape in the kitchen. Snape shivered as he watched her at work, a part of him in awe of the wandless magic she was weaving around the men in the room, a greater part of him disgusted when watching it objectively from a distance.  
  
"I can offer you all the things you secretly yearn for, true fulfilment in every sense."  
  
It was now or ever. She placed her other hand against his chest and stared challengingly into Terry's eyes, before softening her gaze into what she hoped was an expression of hopeless longing.  
  
"All you have to do is reach out and take it," she breathed.  
  
"She's lying, Terry! Can't you see it! She's just manipulating you!" Percy shrieked.  
  
"Silencio!"  
  
Terry lowered his lips onto Hermione's upturned and expectant ones, and slowly, gently, kissed her. Despite everything, she felt a tingle run through her body; she didn't think anyone had ever kissed her so tenderly, as though scared of breaking her. She felt like the most delicate, most beautiful woman in the world right then. Then she felt his arms wrap tightly around her, but she didn't feel warmth or security this time, only a flaring annoyance at the physical constrainment, and her romance vanished.  
  
It was at this point that she felt a painful wrench, and was flung to the ground by a solid and heavy weight that crashed against her head. The last thing she heard was Snape's cry of triumph, before she felt something else crack against her head, followed by the sound of smashing glass and a horrible, cold feeling, as something wet and clingy dribbled down her hair and face.  
  
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
  
~ thanks as always to beta Azazello ~ 


	10. Reflections

Chapter 9: Reflections  
  
"She - she's coming round!"  
  
Hermione tried to respond to Neville's excited squeak, but her eyelids felt so heavy.  
  
"Hermione?" Snape picked up her left hand and tapped it gently. "Can you hear me?"  
  
"Grmm-mmd!" she croaked, before clearing her throat and attempting to sit up. She felt a heavy hand pushing her back down again. "Gerrof!" She finally managed to wrench open her eyes, only to be confronted by Neville's beaming face.  
  
"You're awake!"  
  
Ignoring Neville's helpful observation, Hermione raised herself up gingerly. She appeared to be in some sort of study, the walls were surrounded by empty bookshelves and there was a large desk at the other end of the room, covered in sheaves of documents.  
  
"How are you feeling?"  
  
Truth be told, she didn't know how she felt. She swung her legs down to the floor, and sat up on the chaise longue she had been stretched across. Putting a hand tentatively to her head, she was surprised to find that her hair was wet and sticky.  
  
"We didn't want to scourgify it," Neville explained, "in case it reacted."  
  
"Wha - what?"  
  
"You got doused with the Phoenix Potion when it was wrested from Terry." Snape spoke for the first time since Hermione had opened her eyes, but she could only bring herself to look at his feet. "Unfortunately it broke over your head," he finished brusquely.  
  
Hermione reached another hand up to her head, and felt a tender bump on the left side just above her ear. Then she lowered her hand to her face and felt the same stickiness, before moving her fingers searchingly to her other cheek. A painful throbbing greeted her touch, and she could feel the crusty hardness of a recently formed scab.  
  
"Percy. Where is he?" she growled.  
  
Snape raised an eyebrow in surprise; he had expected her discovery to be greeted by a bout of tears, or at least a vain request for a mirror. He had certainly not expected such steely anger.  
  
"Septimus and Draco are currently flying Percy and Terry to the Ministry of Magic. I believe the relevant authorities will deal with them on arrival."  
  
"Good. I hope they rot in hell!" She spat vehemently. "All this time I was working with him, I thought I was doing something really worthwhile. No, you can't rely on anyone but yourself. All that crap about wanting to be with me as well. I - I just don't understand people."  
  
"The best lesson you can ever learn is that you don't have to," Snape spoke quietly. "You don't need to understand anyone else. And. you can't."  
  
"Well I don't understand what you two are talking about, but I think we should get back to Hogwarts so Madame Pomfrey can see to Hermione." Neville wandered across the room to the stone fireplace. "I think it's safe enough to use floo travel now, don't you?"  
  
Hermione tried to get to her feet to join Neville by the large grate, but collapsed back down immediately.  
  
"Just - just give me a minute," she wheezed, breathing deeply as she tried to get rid of the bright spots swimming in front of her eyes.  
  
"Here," Snape had walked over to Hermione and placed one arm gently underneath her legs, whilst the other slid round to support her back. "Put your arm around my neck."  
  
She did so obediently, as Snape lifted her off the chaise lounge effortlessly, as though she weighed no more than a feather. She hadn't expected him to be so strong, so solid, after his repeated tirades again physical activities like Quidditch and flying. She leaned her head sleepily against his shoulder, suddenly feeling very tired and hazy again.  
  
"Severus, do you believe that 'no man is an island, entire of itself'?" she murmured quietly, so that only he could hear.  
  
"I believe that landlocked nations crumble. That they are always the weakest, forced into dependency on their stronger neighbours. That they stifle," he answered without hesitation, as he stepped into the fire Neville had just sprinkled floo powder into.  
  
"Headmasters Office, Hogwarts!" he shouted.  
  
As they spun round and round Hermione gripped tighter onto Snape, feeling that if she could just cling to him forever then maybe she could try to be an island too. But that didn't make any sense. but then neither did most things at the moment. she gave up, succumbing to fatigue, she closed her eyes and shut her mind off.  
  
* * *  
  
"Ah, Severus," Dumbledore greeted Snape jovially, as the sour looking man took a seat next to him at the High Table. "I have just received some good news from Poppy. I believe your old dining companion will soon be back to provide you with more sparkling conversation."  
  
"Jubilations," he replied expressionlessly.  
  
"She will of course be permanently scarred. But I believe that she is strong enough to overcome such things."  
  
"I dare say she will," Snape replied tiredly, wondering why Dumbledore was telling him all this. If he had really cared about Miss Granger, and her current medical state, then he would have gone to visit her in the infirmary. But he hadn't.  
  
"Anyway, I suppose it's not something you need worry about," Dumbledore said breezily, a twinkle in his eye.  
  
Snape had tried to think about Hermione as little as possible during the last few days that had elapsed since. since he'd had to take that Location Potion. The intensity of such feelings of need and yearning had scared him more than he cared to examine right now. He couldn't expect such strong emotions to leave his mind and body unscathed. He was looking forward to the time when they could return to their barely contained hostility - at least everyone knew where they stood then.  
  
"Ah, sooner than expected."  
  
Snape looked up at Dumbledore's exclamation, to find Hermione walking down the Great Hall toward the High Table, dressed in a long purple travelling cloak. She greeted Professors Flitwick and Vector cordially, if not a little curtly, as she passed behind them, but didn't so much as glance in Snape's direction as she sidled up to the Headmaster.  
  
"Professor Dumbledore. I trust you received my Owl?"  
  
"Ah, this you mean?" and he reached into his robes and pulled out a neatly folded piece of parchment, formally addressed to the Headmaster of Hogwarts.  
  
Hermione nodded in recognition.  
  
"And I uh, suppose you want my answer?" he inquired politely.  
  
"Well it wasn't really a question, more a statement of intent. I only came to inform you now, that I will be leaving immediately. I hope Professor McGonagall's health does not deteriorate again."  
  
"I'm afraid that I cannot accept your resignation Miss Granger."  
  
Beside Dumbledore, Snape raised an eyebrow in surprise. Hogwarts minus its resident Granger - well it wouldn't really be Hogwarts would it? She was practically part of the furniture now. Okay, so maybe not a piece of furniture he would choose to decorate his room with, but a functional piece of furniture all the same.  
  
"Oh?" Hermione folded her arms confrontationally, and stared down at the seated Dumbledore.  
  
"I do not agree with the reasons you have given. While here, you have done marvellous work for the school and its pupils. Do not let the Machiavellian machinations of one maddened megalomaniac diminish the good work that you have done."  
  
"It's time I got a proper job. I was fooling myself that this was something I could do, that my research was important. I apologise for wasting your time Professor Dumbledore, but I've been offered a Muggle Relations job in France, which seems more suited to my mediocrity." She grimaced, and looked at Snape for the first time, catching his eye defiantly.  
  
He returned her steady gaze, unsure exactly what the unspoken words they were communicating to one another were. She sneered derisively, a gesture he was more used to giving than receiving, then returned her attentions back to Dumbledore.  
  
Snape pushed his half-empty plate away and rose from the table, wordlessly sweeping out of the hall without explanation. Dumbledore watched the scene with dawning comprehension.  
  
"You know Hermione, some people are very difficult to understand. As a Gryffindor, you may surely find this hard to believe, but some people go out of their way to make themselves misunderstood."  
  
"That just means they don't possess tact, it doesn't mean that they don't speak the truth."  
  
"Not always. Some people find their guise proves too effective, they have difficulty dropping it when they realise it is no longer needed. Rare is the man who truly says what he means, rarer still is the man who truly means what he says. I believe you may have recently made acquaintance with a man who struggles with this concept."  
  
"Professor Dumbledore, I - "  
  
He held a hand up to silence her.  
  
"First impressions are rarely correct. Perhaps it was your first impression that your work here, and in the wider accademic field, was not appreciated. I ask you to remain and form a true impression."  
  
Despite herself, Hermione found herself nodding and taking her resignation letter back from Dumbledore's outstretched hand.  
  
* * *  
  
Hermione returned to her room and slowly unpacked her bags, wondering how a seemingly old and docile man had managed to change her strong resolve with only a few well-chosen words.  
  
She sent Glod to the Owlery with a note for Harry and Ron, informing them that she wouldn't be coming back to the flat tonight after all. For some reason he had decided to take up residence underneath her window ledge during her absence and, in true Gargoyle fashion, had proved impossible to shift. Of course, you couldn't usually expect to trust a Gargoyle as far as you could throw it, but provided you offered adaquate incentive, she found Glod made quite a useful courier.  
  
So she was surprised when he flew back with a letter still clamped in his scaly hand.  
  
"I thought I told you to deliver that to the Owlery Glod? You don't get payment if you don't deliver." she scowled, disproportionately annoyed over the minor irritance.  
  
"Oh misssus, I have, I have. This is letter for you. From him," he paused as he landed heavily on the mantelpiece, "The black-haired one with the hooky nose."  
  
Hermione reached out a shaking hand slowly and took the letter from Glod's steely grasp. She wanted to delay this moment as long as possible, the moment before she knew what was written in that letter.  
  
She slit open the black wax seal, stamped with the Snape crest, and opened the crisp parchment.  
  
It was a letter from Septimus, inviting her for drinks in his uncle's chambers, by way of a send off, before his return for the start of term at Durmstrang.  
  
Hermione smiled to herself, a part of her touched by the friendly tone of the letter, the other, silent half annoyed that it had to be from that Snape. Not that she expected anything from him, or wanted to expect anything from him for that matter, she told herself. But she hadn't even seen him since they had returned to Hogwarts, much less thanked him. She cringed as she remembered the inane babble she had muttered to him, as he had carried her in his arms. However, he had washed his hands of her quickly enough.  
  
"What does Hooky Nose want?" Glod regarded Hermione carefully out of cold black eyes.  
  
This was the downside of having a personal courier at her beck and call - he seemed to think his role encompassed that of agony aunt also.  
  
"Nothing you need concern yourself with."  
  
"Ooh! Is it a lovey dovey lurrrrrrve letter? Sealed with a loving kiss?" he cackled gleefully.  
  
"Piss off, Glod." She threw a shoe at him and he cackled even louder. "Nearly gots me that time, your aim's getting better."  
  
And to think; she had complained about the doorknob and knocker - they were positively cheerful additions to the décor in comparison.  
  
"Are you going to Hooky's little soiree then?"  
  
"How did you? I can't believe you read my letter!"  
  
She threw the other shoe at him, this time hitting her target with a painful clunk, and rewarded herself with a satisfying cackle of her own.  
  
* * *  
  
Hermione glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece as she settled down in her armchair to read. She couldn't seem to concentrate though, the words kept bouncing up and down so that she was forced to read each muddled sentence three times before they started to make any sense. It was half past eight. She wondered what was happening in Severus' room, whether. no she didn't! She was quite happy sitting here, enjoying a glass of wine by herself, thank you very much.  
  
There was a knock at the door. She considered just leaving it and pretending she was out, but the caller had already begun to open the door.  
  
"Ah, Hermione." Neville poked his head around the door. "I told them you were just being a typical woman, trying to be fashionably late."  
  
Hermione sighed resignedly. She supposed it would be rather rude not to say goodbye to Septimus, after all he had done for her, as well. She could just pop in; show her face for half an hour. She didn't have to talk to Snape. In fact she would ignore him. If that's what he wanted.  
  
"Yes I'm coming now, just let me find my shoes," she sighed.  
  
* * *  
  
As Septimus's 'small gathering' turned out to encompass half the adult population of Hogwarts, Hermione found that she was quite able to blend herself into the background. She sipped her wine quietly as the conversation flowed around her, watching Neville animatedly narrate an extremely disturbing anecdote, involving his misadventures with a jar of peanut butter and a weasel, out of the corner of her eye. He had been hiding out at Hogwarts for the past couple of days, after his miraculous re- appearance in the Wizarding World had been extensively reported. Away from the media circus he seemed more conformable in his own skin, and had even been seen skulking around the greenhouses in an old frayed gardening robe.  
  
Hermione was not supposed to be drinking so soon after her head trauma, but as Neville's tentative suggestion of a glass of orange juice had resulted in an impressive explosion of blue language, she found that her glass was regularly topped up. Good wine too. Better than the plonk she usually brought. Mind you, since her selection process usually consisted of 'does it have a pretty picture of a vine-yard on the label?', and 'does it cost less than two galleons?', that didn't really say much. She sighed to herself. It was just another area of the Wizarding world where her Muggle parentage provided further exclusion.  
  
As the small crowd around Neville parted, Hermione spotted Snape for the first time, lounging sourly against a bookshelf, shrewd black eyes scanning the room, as Septimus and Draco conversed freely in front of him. They momentarily caught each other's eye. Hermione looked away quickly, colour rising to her cheeks.  
  
"Excuse me." She turned from the loosely assembled knot of people around her, and crossed the room to the sideboard, pouring herself a large shot of whisky. She needed to feel the burning sensation, something physical that would lasso through her body, and tingle her nerve endings in just the right way. She had long ago found that the bottom of a glass could create many ersatz emotions when in need.  
  
Without needing to turn around, she knew that Snape was watching her. No doubt clucking in disapproval, she thought to herself. She hoped she was drinking his best scotch - hah!  
  
She wandered over to the window, set into the cliff like her own. It was dark, and the room was well lit, so she watched covertly as Septimus clapped Draco on the back, laughing like an old sea dog.  
  
Her gaze lowered, and her eyes focused onto her own face, a sharp reflection of defiant brown eyes framed by loose wild curls, staring back challengingly. It was her face, but it was not the face she had always known. It was different, unreadable, completely changed in definition and character by the long angry looking cut slashed across her cheek. She smiled to herself at the effect. She looked dark, evil. Her face told people to go away and leave her alone. And that was what she wanted right now.  
  
She drained the tumbler with one heroic swig, reeling only slightly as she placed the empty glass down on the sideboard with a heavy thunk. Picking up two ready poured glass of wine for herself, she wandered lazily back across the room, meandering unseeingly through the scattered groupings. She couldn't cope with people at the moment, couldn't force sparkling conversation and self-deprecating jokes, when all she wanted to do was hold a mirror up to her life and smash it with her fist.  
  
With a sigh of relief, as though shrugging off a heavy cloak, she opened the door and stepped out into the green corridor, the corridor so like her own. She was just in the middle of examining a rather gruesome portrait of a gaunt young man, when she noticed a wisp of white smoke curling up from behind one of the suits of armour, at the far end of the corridor.  
  
Piqued by curiosity - a result of too many years spent in the company of Harry and Ron - she strode sedately down the deep green carpet, toward the source of the smoke.  
  
"Oh!"  
  
Snape was leaning laconically against the wall, one leg straight out, the other bent at the knee supporting his weight. She was surprised to find him smoking a cigarette, and his black eyes regarded her coolly.  
  
"I just wondered what the smoke was." Hermione found herself finishing lamely.  
  
"Well, now you know." he growled, evidently displeased at the disturbance. But he carried on casually smoking, the butt glowing like a fierce red eye in contrast to his deathly pale skin.  
  
Hermione countered his stare, waiting for the explanation, refusing to be made to feel stupid because she had caught him sneaking out for a crafty fag like a rebel schoolboy.  
  
"Why don't you just smoke in your rooms?"  
  
"I would have thought that should be blatantly obvious to someone who claims to be an accomplished archivist."  
  
She took a deep breath.  
  
"Severus, I think you are by far the rudest person I have ever met," she said, not unkindly, but in the tone of voice one uses for universally held truths.  
  
"Judging by your choice of companions, I consider that quite a compliment."  
  
"Here." She wasn't sure why, but she reached out and offered him the other glass of wine. Maybe she didn't want to appear rude, maybe she didn't want to look like an alcoholic, or maybe she thought he looked as though he needed it - even if she did secretly believe that the sign of a well- balanced person was a drink in either hand. "If you're going to insist on killing yourself, you may as well accelerate the process."  
  
"Why not?" he smirked and took the proffered glass, his fingers briefly closing around hers. "It is, after all, rather a nice bottle."  
  
"I suppose you'll miss Septimus when he's gone?" she said quickly, trying to make light conversation.  
  
"On the contrary. I shall enjoy having my quarters back to myself. My books replaced back in their categorised order, my shoes unborrowed and unmuddied, and my wine undrunk."  
  
"Is that a hint?" Hermione giggled, taking a large swig of wine.  
  
"Would you take it if it was?" he shot back, taking a last drag of his cigarette before stubbing it out on the side of his glass.  
  
"I don't think I'd have a choice about it. Professor Snape is not the sort of man who delicately drops subtle hints."  
  
"That's where we differ, you and I." He fixed his dark eyes on her, an unreadable expression flashing across his face. "Neither of us suffers fools gladly. Perhaps I am merely more vocal in my displeasure. You should try it some time Miss Granger."  
  
"Perhaps I will. Perhaps I won't. It can be awfully hard changing the habit of a lifetime."  
  
"It depends whether you merely want to change, or whether you need to change."  
  
"Aren't they the same thing? Who truly changes out of choice? The evolution of the self is not something we can guide, it's something that guides us." she took a deep breath, "It's the things about us that we can't change."  
  
He watched her with an intense fascination, watched as she dropped her head down sadly, subconsciously reaching a small hand up to her face. He followed her gesture with puzzlement, until he noticed for the first time what she was touching; the raw edges of a slowly forming scar.  
  
"Hermione?" He put his glass down and reached toward her, gently peeling her fingers away from her right cheek. "That doesn't matter. None of this matters." He wished he could think of something to say, something that would make sense to her, but he found words deserting him at the moment he was most in need of his usual cool articulacy.  
  
"Of course it matters! I'm only twenty-five years old, but I'm a wreck of a woman. Redemption is so hard to find these days." She had never been able to rely on her looks to get what she wanted, that had been the role of her mind, but she had never had to justify them before now, when she suddenly found her face disfigured and disgusting.  
  
"You're talking to the wrong person. I know nothing of this redemption. You speak as though looking for justification, justification for your very existence. You don't need an unblemished face to provide that, and you never did Hermione." His voice broke slightly as reached down to her unprotected face again, and cupped her chin in his hand, gently brushing her cheek with his thumb. Hermione stood frozen, eyes widening as he slowly, carefully traced his thumb down the ridge of the scar. She was not yet accustomed to her new and hyper-sensitised skin, unaware that anothers touch would release such a prickly shiver of painful pleasure through her body.  
  
"Severus. I. that time in the kitchen at Malfoy Manor, I really did want to understand you, you know. And. I don't know why," she faltered, unable to look Snape back in the eye.  
  
"What you said to Terry, about the isolation of a powerful mind. you really meant it didn't you?"  
  
"Perhaps I was being rhetorical."  
  
"No, I don't think so." His hand was still cradling her face, and Hermione was unable to look away as his grip tightened slightly, forcing her gaze into his. "But you could have been saying it to me."  
  
"Maybe I was," she whispered hoarsely.  
  
"Me and you. we know the score don't we?"  
  
She nodded dumbly, unsure quite what she was agreeing to, but enjoying the feeling as Snape's hand was dislodged slightly by the movement and dropped to her throat. His touch lightened in response, and he began tracing delicate circles on the side of her neck with his rough ringers, sending shivers shooting through her body, as her face flushed with colour.  
  
"You're." He bent down towards her, face within reach, and she could just begin to feel his bottom lip brushing against her own, when he pulled up suddenly. ".Much too bright for this." And he withdrew his touch completely, stepping back awkwardly and clattering into the suit of armour, before turning round and walking away quickly.  
  
"Wait! Severus!"  
  
Hermione ran after him, grabbing him by the arm and forcefully pulling him around to face her.  
  
"That's bollocks! This has all been bollocks!" she cried, "I don't care what you say!"  
  
Snape started in surprise as Hermione Granger grabbed his face and pulled it down to her own, kissing him viciously, victoriously, voraciously, as she forced his lips apart with her tongue and delved adventurously into his mouth, in a gesture that took both of them by surprise. He took a moment to respond, then made up for lost time by returning her kiss hungrily, as though he had been waiting a long time for this, wrapping his arms around her possessively.  
  
Together they stumbled into the suit of armour again, ignoring the clatter as it crashed to the ground, completely wrapped up in each other. He pushed her hard against the wall, and she groaned in pleasure, needing to feel only the cold power of their mutual lust.  
  
His hands were exploring, travelling rapidly and deftly over her body. She leaned back submissively against the wall, allowing him to continue his hungry attack of her body, his mouth on her throat, until suddenly she pushed back, propelling him into the sharp edge of a cabinet, that shook with the impact. Her hands were all over his body, enjoying the hardness of his tense body, the strong muscles in his grasping arms, and the rigidness of his chest. He had been surprised, knocked off guard, by her sudden assault, but he liked it, oh yes, he liked it very much as her mouth locked onto his own, and her hand. by God in the middle of the corridor!  
  
"Hermione." he murmured, reluctantly pulling away. She carried on her gleeful exploration of his. stamp collection, until he was forced to grab her by the shoulder and push her roughly away. "Maybe we should go somewhere a bit more. private," he gasped.  
  
She grabbed him by the hand and virtually dragged him along his corridor and into her own, stopping only for a brief but memorable grope in the darkened wardrobe. Even the doorknob let her into her rooms without quibble.  
  
Then her lips were back on his, her hands reaching down again.  
  
"This way." Familiar with the identical layout, he took her by the hand and led her into the bedroom.  
  
"My, my, we are Mr. Conventional aren't we?" she smirked.  
  
But it was evidently not a complaint, for she immediately pushed him onto the large bed and pounced on top of him, till he rolled over, forcing her underneath him as he hitched up her robe with his hand, reaching for the softness between her thighs. She struggled against him, trying to push him off her and get on top again, but he seemed to have taken her earlier comment to heart for he kept his body pressed firmly on top of her own.  
  
She continued her frantic writhing as Snape tried to renegotiate a way in - well, she was not going to make this easy for him, he could work for his pleasure. But she had to feel more of him, more of his body in her hot hands, his heat, his hardness. She pushed her hips forwards and smiled slyly as he immediately responded with a delicious grinding motion.  
  
She tugged at his robes, his pressure on top of her lifting slightly as he helped her pull them over his head, revealing his nakedness. She reached a hand to his chest and trailed it down the thin line of black hair, tantalisingly down to his navel, and then further still, stroking around his groin until finally she grasped him in her small hand.  
  
He gasped, then groaned as she began moving her hand rhythmically up and down, adjusting her pressure and speed until he could feel the heat welling up inside him, waiting to be released by one more deft movement of those hot little hands. God he needed this.  
  
Spotting this moment of weakness as an opportunity, she released him cruelly and rolled over on top of him, straddling him as she pulled her own robes off over her head to reveal creamy white skin, waiting to be touched, despoiled. Snape set about the task with relish, raising himself up into a sitting position as he hungrily explored her neck, her shoulders, and then her small soft breasts with his mouth, both of them groaning in contentment.  
  
She reached down and took him in her hand again, guiding him toward her so he slipped against her wetness. She was just about to plunge herself onto him, when Snape raised his mouth from her breast.  
  
"No. not yet."  
  
He pushed her off him and onto her back, slipping a pillow underneath her hips with one deft movement, then slowly lowered his head deliciously down, lower and lower. Then he flicked out the tip of his tongue gently, experimentally. Her reaction was instant, as she groaned in pleasure and thrust her hips up, revelling in the ecstasy provided by her deliciously experienced lover. Obligingly, he began slowly lapping at her wetness, tracing small circles and figures of eight before applying the pressure of his wet tongue on her swollen nub. She groaned louder, which he took it as a signal to continue, flicking across faster and harder as her back arched appreciatively and her fingers gripped into his hair painfully.  
  
"Don't stop. don't stop."  
  
Well, two could play at her game. Just as she felt her orgasm bubbling to the surface, about to rip through and tear down the walls, he lifted his head and slowly snaked small kisses up her navel to her taut breasts, as she ground against him in frustration.  
  
Before she could protest however, he pushed himself inside her, forcing her apart, as her eyes opened in a kaleidoscope of shock, pleasure, ecstasy. He thrust inside deeper, feeling as though his soul had descended to a higher plane and God, he could die happy now! He could feel it building up inside him, and he thrust deeper and faster, barely noticing Hermione's escalating screams of pleasure or her sharp fingernails scratching down his back and her teeth biting down on his shoulder hard. She didn't stop to ask gently whether she was hurting him, or try to subdue her animal instincts but thrust back viciously, mercilessly even as her legs wrapped around his waist tightened their hold and squeezed the breath out of his lungs. And he liked it. By God he liked it, it excited him even more, and he willed her to scratch deeper, bite harder.  
  
He was drenched in sweat now, they both were, clinging together like two drowning souls, as finally he felt her insides convulse and tighten around him, as Hermione's orgasm forced a scream through her lips, and he could let go, let her draw out his juices as he came right inside her. He panted, throbbing painfully inside as his hot seed continued to shoot out. And he looked at her, black eyes boring into deep brown ones, and he felt himself burnt by her defiant stare, a stare that looked oddly misplaced on such a fresh, rosy face.  
  
He withdrew and rolled off her, staring up at the ceiling. Knowing that she would hate him forever.  
  
It was just sex.  
  
His own redemption lay elsewhere.  
  
***********************************  
  
~ thanks as always to beta Azazello ~  
  
A/N: This is the end of Redemption. Part II, Repossession, is in development, and will conclude this story. I hope that some people have enjoyed reading this fic. Emails and feedback are always welcome. __ 


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